


An Assassin, a Thief, and the Dragonborn

by Nalledia



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Bajazzo is the other author, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dawnguard, Delany really swears a lot, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mages College, Romance, Skooma, Swearing, Thieves Guild, main quest, more tags to be added later?, so many characters and plots, substance use/abuse, this is/was a collaboration fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 77,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalledia/pseuds/Nalledia
Summary: A chance encounter in the Tap n Tack makes friends of a Breton thief and an ambitious, future Khajiit assassin. Once in Skyrim, they watch as Alduin returns. They are saved by the Dragonborn, and their adventures are only beginning. Collab between Bajazzo (on FF) & Nalledia





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> We do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. Delany is Nalledia’s; Solän'cae (Sol-ahn-tchai) is Bajazzo’s. This will be posted on both our accounts (so please, don’t report them as plagiarism – it’s a joint effort on our part, so I believe it’s only fair that we both get to post this story, instead of only one or the other)  
> Enjoy and please review!  
> Fanfic collab between Nalledia and Bajazzo. It’s a two POV story, one from a Khajiit’s weird first-person, and the other from a Breton’s first-person. Neither are Dragonborn, just to make it clear from the beginning. As this collaboration is only in the beginning phases, there is a chance that a third or even fourth POV may enter, to document two other characters (well, at least one will become rather prominent, but if that POV is to be included an A/N will make note of that;)) Hope you will enjoy this, beloved readers!

Solän’cae reached under the table, leaning back in this one’s chair. The skooma was to the left, empty wine bottle to the right of my pack, beneath this one’s feet. A quick glance around the inn – drunk Nords, smelly and loud, and busy fighting – they wouldn’t notice this one’s change in drinks, at least not until tomorrow. Solän'cae turned her ears to the bottles, listening to the trickle and chime of skooma flowing into her soon-full bottle. _Ah, these Nords may love their meads and their soft highs, but they will never know the highs of skooma, the pure bliss…_ this one purred before she knew it happened, dropping her empty-skooma into her pack and lifting her full-wine-skooma to the table, watching the room for suspicious eyes on Solän'cae.

This one found none.

And she lifted the wine to her lips, breathing in the sweet, delicious smell of refined and distilled moon sugar. This one sipped, savoring the taste, sweet as sugar, fresh and cool as the moons on a summer night. Solän'cae is excited to be away from the scorching hot sands of her beloved homeland, Elsweyer. But mostly, this one loves her family there – her litter was large, and the family just as big, and always bigger. Solän'cae sighed. But Skyrim… Skyrim would be just as much of an adventure! There were the mountains, the white-floating-cold-rain, the Nords, the caravans…. The Dark Brotherhood. Or, that is what this one hears from the Imperial hairless-ones. There is one last chapter, one last group still alive and free from the death they deal out to others.

Solän'cae closed her eyes, breathing in my skooma-wine-smell. Ah, this was what this one lives for – the bliss, the happiness, travel. But this Khajiiti has used all her septims, and she has only enough for tonight at the inn and tomorrow’s food. Either this one must steal and race her way across the border, or she must find work and coin to buy her way across the border. But that is tomorrow’s problems – Solän'cae has never had bad luck before, and she has no doubt that she will be looked after by the Great Cats. This one takes another long sip of her skooma-wine-bottle.

Everything will fall into place, just as it should. As it always does for this one.

 

* * * * * * *

 

_Tap and Tack, thank Dibella,_ I thought, bracing myself against the snow and wind of a cold Evening Star twilight. I had just made the evening curfew into the city of Bruma, and I intended to make the most of my stay by living cheaply and gaining… _greatly_. I hurried inside, the sudden warmth from the fire in one corner contrasting sharply with the biting cold outside. I shivered, pulling my cloak closer and tried to weave and shove my way to the bar where the innkeep was drying off a grimy-looking tankard. “I’d like a room, please,” I said, leaning forwards on the bar. The old Nord looked me over briefly, then nodded, tossing the cloth over his shoulder and stowing the tankard beneath the counter. “That’ll be ten septims, girl,” he huffed. I nodded, fumbling with my coinpurse for a moment. I considered ordering food, but my eyes wandered over the rough common room for a moment too long – too many fights, and sitting at the bar wouldn’t help avoid them. I brushed a few dark, stray hairs out of my eyes. “Room’s last one on the right end of the hall,” the innkeeper slid a key over the wooden counter, and pointed to the small passage leading down to the back of the inn. I nodded my thanks, then spied an almost-empty table with a Khajiit woman.

She was snowy-white, almost like the snow leopards that were sometimes killed in the region, and she was thoroughly enjoying a bottle of Surilie Brothers wine. I didn’t know the vintage – didn’t really care, either – but perhaps she could be convinced to have some Cyrodiilic Brandy I had managed to acquire from a rather wealthy merchant on his way to Cheydinhal from Kvatch or so, in exchange for company and perhaps a partner in crime. I don’t think the merchant knew his brandy was missing, but that wasn’t my problem. I grinned, and headed over to the Khajiit woman.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Mind if I join you?” a young, hairless-one’s voice broke through this one’s happy thoughts. Solän'cae turned to look at the hairless-one-girl, then down at the bottle in her hands.  “It’s Cyrodiilic Brandy,” the hairless-one explained. Blue eyes, like the skies or the dark ice in this land. Solän'cae smirked, then motioned with her snowy-white hand at the chair opposite this Khajiiti. The hairless-one opened the bottle, pouring a dark golden-brown into cups for us. The hairless-one pushed a cup to Solän'cae. This one raised the glass, sniffing the bitter, strong Imperial drink. Solän'cae’s nose twitched and tingled.

Then she tasted.

And she sputtered, slamming the cup down. The hairless-one looked up in surprise. “Bette _rrrrrr_ ,” Solän'cae purred, holding out the bottle to the hairless-one. The girl raised a lonely bit of hair above her eye, then put down her cup of bitter alcohol and took the bottle. Then she tasted.

And her eyes went wide, and she smiled.

And Solän'cae laughed. Hard, good, sudden. Ah, this one realized it wasn’t _wine_ -wine-bottle, but _skooma_ -wine-bottle.

“I’ll agree,” the hairless-one giggled, “this _is_ better than the brandy!”  
“Solän'cae knows this, she is glad you agree!”  
“Sol’ahnsai? I’m Delany,” the hairless-one grinned, drinking some more from this one’s skooma.  
Solän'cae frowned. This one thinks. “Solän' _cae_. May your roads lead you to warm sands,” this one purred.  
“Uhm… you too?” the hairless-one, Delany, giggled, frowning. “Solän' _cae_!” The hairless-one sneezed.  
“Bless you.”  
“Why? I just said your name. But bless you too!” Delany beamed, passing back the skooma.  
Solän'cae grinned. _I think I like this hairless-one, Delany._ “Yes, this one likes that one….”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Things were fuzzy and sharp at the same time. I loved and hated the feeling – or was it a smell? A touch? Who cares! “So, this is the house of a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. Was, I think,” I giggled, leaning heavily on a fluffy, warm white Khajiit. _Warm… like milk_ , I giggled again, falling against the wooden door and fumbling for my lockpicks to get inside. Or fumbling _at_? I dropped them once, twice, and another few times before the door gave and I tripped over my feet, falling on my face into the house. Solän'cae mumbled something, then fell on me with a hiss.

I sniggered. She purred.

We finally untangled ourselves and Solän'cae closed the door. “Let’s ex _plooooore_!” I sat up, waving my hands in a circle, my eyes wide. The Khajiit's face was suddenly right in front of mine, my eyes crossing to look at her. “Yesss…” she purred, drunk and high and stumbling gracefully. “Hail Sithis.”

I hummed in reply, and we went through the cupboards, plateboards, dressers, undressers, end tables and start tables. We pulled on extravagant, hard metal hats with long wooden handles far too big for us, threw strange, hard round cloth at the walls and floors which shattered rather interestingly and silently in a loud way. Who would have thought cloth could shatter?

Finally we half-stumbled, half-tumbled into the basement, falling onto our backs next to an unlocked trap door, breathless from our fun. Solän'cae shifted, laying her head on my ribs and started purring softly. I couldn’t help myself – I started stroking her head, the soft fur over her ears…. I was entranced.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Khajiiti thought it was strange when the hairless-one started stroking my head. We do not _stroke_ others’ heads…. Perhaps it is normal for hairless-ones to stroke each other’s heads? But it feels so nice, so soothing and the rhythm is good, gentle, soft. And Solän'cae is too happy, too lost in skooma-bliss to care too much. She purrs a little louder, and Delany giggles, like a little bird caught in a cage that sings in the sun. Solän'cae quite likes the sound, she thinks. Maybe not – it makes her want to catch the bird, chase it through the warm sun. but even that would be fun, and this one purrs, snuggling into the surprisingly-warm body of the hairless-one-Delany. Delany hummed, cradling my head and stroking softly. “So, do you wanna find ‘em or som’ing?” she asked.  
“Hhhmmmm? Does this one want to find who?”  
“ _Them_.”

Silence stretched and curled up again. “Who?”  
“Who what?” Delany slurred.  
“Who am I looking for?” Solän'cae reminded her.  
“I dunno – ask’d you,” she mumbled, lost in her skooma-bliss.

It was quiet. Then Delany snorted, and I hissed. We laughed, and laughed, shrieking and gasping, rolling around like newborn kittens. Solän'cae gasped for air, ready to answer. “Yes, this one–”  
“By the order of the Count of Bruma, you are under arrest for trespassing and unlawful public appearance, and disturbing the peace!”

This one looked up, hissing. It was a Guard of the City, hand on his silver sword, ready to arrest us. “Huh, what? We’re not – _shit!_ ”

The hairless-one swore loudly when this clever Khajiit ripped open the trap door, shoved her down and jumped after her, pulling the door down. “ _Run_ , Delany!!” this one hissed, pulling her up and pricking the soft flesh of her arm and wrist.  
“Ow! Ok, I’m coming!” she called, stumbling to keep up. How does one run without a tail? With difficulty, it seems.

We raced through the caves, finding a Black Door and ran over the broken remains. The corridors twisted and turned, the walls and floor black with fire-scars and frost-scars, and sword-cuts and arrow-stabs. We hid deep within the old, destroyed Sanctuary (because that is what this was – this much, Solän'cae knew about the Dark Brotherhood. She knew much, read and asked and listened to those who knew). This one felt safe within these walls…. Even Delany looked comfortable. But we would need to leave Bruma because of this.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“We need to leave Bruma after this,” I said, feeling strangely clear-headed after we started running through the ruins of the Bruma Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. I felt comfortable in the caverns – after all, assassins and thieves are distant cousins, and we often needed the other to help with our own work. It was a mutually beneficial relationship – they needed to fence their goods sometimes, and get some illegal equipment, and we needed people to steal from. Mutually beneficial!

“This one knows that, but our things are locked in your room, yes?”  
“Shit.” I swore. “Yes, that’s true…” I trailed. I could sneak back into the city and retrieve _some_ of our things, but not everything.

My pack had food, two changes of clothes, my iron bow, a quiver of twenty iron arrows and a pathetic, abused (but useful) iron sword, and a fair amount of gold and contraband – the latter of which would earn me almost double what I now possessed, or a few weeks in jail, if my stash was discovered. I had at least two comparatively high-risk items in my pack. I had no idea what Solän'cae had in hers, but I suspected it would be similar to what I had, her ‘contraband’ being skooma instead of stolen goods.

“This one has no money to cross the border into Skyrim, where I am headed. There is another five bottles of skooma and this one’s glass sword and bow-and-quiver in this one’s pack. I cannot leave without them – they are too important to Solän'cae to leave behind.”

I dropped my head into my hands. Small things were easy to hide, like gold and trinkets, but a full bow and sword? Challenging at best. “Challenge accepted,” I murmured, raising my head to look at Solän'cae. “I’ll go back tomorrow, and bring our things down here. There should be a second entrance, since we were in natural caverns before we came to this Sanctuary. We’ll leave through the second entrance, and make our way to Skyrim. I’m headed there too – well, _would have_ after I spent a week clearing out Bruma,” I grinned sheepishly.  
Solän'cae returned my grin with more surety. “Excellent! Then we shall leave for the Cold Lands tomorrow. Together.”  
“Together!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Delany was fast – out and in and back again before this one knew it, and we left through a cave south of Bruma. This clever Khajiiti found the exit, and we went west around the city to the North. When we were finally North, some four days later, we saw a great, crumbling stone fortress. One look at the other and we already knew: we were going inside, to look and see what it was, and what was inside. Ah, this Solän'cae quite likes this hairless-one-Delany – she is a good thief, and a great friend so far.

When this one becomes an assassin, this one will need friends who run in less-dark circles – why not have friends this one actually likes and knows?


	2. A Lost Dynasty

It took us about two days to circle around Bruma, then another almost-two days to make it to the imposing, gilded gates of Cloud Ruler Temple where it stood – loomed – out of the mountains which sheltered it from any attack. It was awe-inspiring, really, and especially so in the cold mist that shrouded the land in white-grey. Even Solän'cae, with all her dedicated interest in the Dark Brotherhood, and typical disinterest in architecture _not_ related to the assassins, had to admire the craftsmanship that went into the structure. It had been abandoned at some stage during the Great War, when the Blades had been rather effectively destroyed and mutilated by the Thalmor. Both are meant to be taken literally – if there are Blades still alive, they are in hiding. Those that were buried, were buried in hopes that the pieces and mess of flesh and bone was the person it claimed to be.

Didn’t stop the elves from breaking in to see what was inside, though. The huge, heavy gates were slightly ajar, and Solän'cae and I stalked and crept in silently. I took the rear, my bow strung and arrows at the ready. Just because it was abandoned by sensible people didn’t mean it was devoid of people at all. We squeezed through the narrow gap in the gates, staring up at the tall, broad stairway in from of us. “Wow…” I breathed, glancing around and above us quickly. One of Solän'cae’s black-tipped ears flicked backwards briefly, and she hissed softly as if to silence me. I rolled my eyes, but obliged. We spread out a little, treading up the stairs through the fine snowy mist. It was freezing here, between stone walls, mountains and snow.

I was still amazed by the sheer size of the stairway – four horses could easily walk next to each other all the way to the top, and judging by the way the stairs had been formed, they had been built with that in mind. _Clever_ , I nodded to myself, briefly turning around to look back at the gates and the raised area behind us. “Look, this Solän'cae sees something there,” the Khajiit murmured softly, pointing to the front. A wood and stone building stood still, silent, waiting for us to find it through the cold. When I looked around us, I saw buildings I recognized as stables to my left. The grass planted on top was overgrown, long, and almost ready to succumb to the frost lying over it. “Shall we find out what’s inside that building, Solän' _cae_?” I asked, throwing a grin her way.  
She smirked gleefully at me. “Why, of course! This Khajiiti _will_ know what lies beyond those doors.”

I slung my bow and reached for my picks, my grin every bit as wide as hers.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Khajiiti watched for enemies while the sky-blue-eyed-Breton picked the lock, nimble and quick. And then she pulled her bow to the front – scraggly, scratched and ugly iron thing it was – and motioned the door. Delany nocked an arrow, I raised my glass sword. Solän'cae nodded. This Khajiiti opened the door, and kicked it wide. Delany was ready with her bow, straight and thin to the target. Then she relaxed. “Empty. Let’s head in, see what’s left of this place.”  
“Right, this one agrees.” Solän'cae sheathed the glass blade, following the hairless-one inside. Broken swords hung on the walls, lay on the floors. Wood was burnt and frozen and cracked and cut, the ceiling hanging where the beams could no longer stand. The Thalmor made quick work of this place. Solän'cae’s people fought because our cousins the Bosmer fought, and because the Altmer had returned the Moons to us when they left our skies. For that, all are grateful. I walked into a burned book, kicking it out of this one’s path, looking around. Delany hissed, clucking her tongue. Solän'cae turned to look at her. “Don’t just _kick_ things out of the way! There could be valuable artifacts and historic pieces here!”  
Solän'cae stared back. “It was not on purpose, this one did not look where she was going. It was foolish of this one to think this place would be free of history on the floors.”  
“Oh,” Delany turned pink, looking down in shame. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to come off as rude. I just…. There’s just –”  
“Too much history and too many stories that must be told and heard, yes?” Solän'cae grinned. Ah, a fellow student of history…. Good. At least she is not a bumbling idiot where this place stands  
Delany grinned – beamed, perhaps. “Exactly! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could uncover some forgotten piece of history while we’re here?” the hairless-one kept babbling excitedly, and it was all Solän'cae could do not to join her. It _would_ be exciting to find something new-that-was-old, and look into the stories behind this new-old truth.

The book this one had kicked was already crumbling when I walked in, and now it was just ashes and dust. _A pity – but it would be unwise to wish to know its contents,_ Solän'cae thinks, and stands, carefully weaving through the wood and ash and tile and – was that a skeleton? – made her way to the middle of the room, looking up and around at all the swords hanging here. _They must have been great men and women for their swords to be displayed here, so proudly._ Solän'cae snarled and hissed. How _dare_ the Thalmor destroy centuries of history just because the Blades were their enemies?! Have they no shame, no care for the world?

“Hey, you ok?” Delany looked worried, scared of this Solän'cae. I breathed deep, closed these ice-blue eyes and relaxed.  
“Yes, I am alright. I am just angered that others can come and destroy so much history so quickly without care. It is worse than murder, worse than war!” I growled, tail swishing behind me. Ah, it makes this one so angry…. “Look!” I waved her closer, frowning and scowling. “See all these swords? They are the blades of great men and women who served as the old Septim Emperor’s bodyguards, the greatest Blades of their time. And look here,” I gestured at the floor, the broken slivers of steel and the cracked hilts on the beams above and below.  
“It’s so unnecessary to destroy like this…” Delany whispered, her young face scowling darkly. “I see what you mean. They had no right to destroy this place, but I also understand why they did this.”  
Solän'cae stared in disbelief. “You agree with this?!”  
“No!” Delany shook her head hard. “No, of course not! But I understand _why_ they did it. If anything here survived intact, there would be a small sliver of hope that people could defeat and turn back the Dominion. Besides, if they left this untouched then it would show they are too weak to take full control of the Empire. All of this destruction is very specific and very political. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s sad to lose so much history. Come on, I found a door leading to a different room before you called me. Let’s go see what’s there,” the Breton finished quietly, as if she could soothe the hurt in this place.

Solän'cae supposes this Delany’s reasoning is correct, but it doesn’t mean that this Khajiiti agrees with it. _Perhaps when I join the Dark Brotherhood, I will get contracts to kill some of the Thalmor. Would that not be fair revenge for what happened here?_ Solän'cae grinned darkly. Oh, it would be more than fair for what happened here….

 

* * * * * * *

 

We explored the entire ruin of Cloud Ruler Temple, the crumbling, ancient fortress of the Blades, where Martin Septim himself had lived during the Oblivion Crisis, where the great _Khajiit_ Champion of Cyrodiil had served as an honorary member, and saved the world from Mehrunz and his mischief. The legend of Al’Kardho the Champion of Cyrodiil was well-known throughout Elsweyr, and every kitten wished to be as great as the Dune-born hero. The midnight-furred, golden-eyed Hero of Elsweyr and Cyrodiil, as we knew him. This Solän'cae shivered in glee – if only she could have met the great cat himself…. What an honor it would have been.

But he was probably dead, and no-one knew where he had died, only that he was gone. Perhaps he had risen to live among the Divines like Tiber Septim, the hero-god known as Talos; perhaps Al'Kardho found peace within the realm of his patron Daedra Lord. Solän'cae would not know which one, yet. Hopefully not for a long time still. Delany had left to explore a room we identified as one that Martin Septim himself may have slept in, and this one explored the burnt-exposed library. There were still some books to be saved from this place, and this Khajiit carefully packed them all into her travel bag. Well, those that were most interesting to me, anyway. “Solän' _cae_! Come here quick! I found something amazing!” Delany shouted, her feet already running back to the library. I looked up as she came in, struggling to hold up a large, fat book, her nose deep inside its page.

This one was interested in the find – what was that, exactly? “What is that, Delany?” I walked closer, and she gently set the book – tome – down.

She was excited, her blue eyes glistening like the ocean. “It’s a history and full lineage of the Septim Dynasty – _after_ the death of Martin Septim.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was breathless at the find, and Solän'cae stared blankly at me. I kept grinning. “Look,” I pointed at the book, paging back and pointing out names, dates, short biographies. “All of this shows that the Septim line has continued, and is still alive! And sure – at the very end it mentions a second volume, one continuing the line after this one, since it only records up to Fourth-Era-Eighty, so we’re missing some hundred-plus years, but _imagine that_! The Septim Dynasty, alive and well, and someone out there in the great big wide world is the rightful _Emperor_ or _Empress_ to the throne!”

That got Solän'cae’s attention. “Let me see that,” her eyes were fixed on the book, and she turned it to face her even as she moved closer to the tome. I nodded, stepping aside. I watched as she scanned the pages, snatching up the important lines and facts from the document. “We will need to confirm all of this, yes.”  
I nodded eagerly. “That’s what I thought. The only place that’s truly independent of Thalmor influence is the College of Winterhold. I’ve heard their library is as large as the Imperial Palace’s library. The other plus is, once you're in, you can learn almost _anything_ there – all the magic Schools, including Mysticism, Enchanting, Alchemy…. They have history and research divisions too, so there should be hundreds, no, _thousands_ of books on the Blades and the Septims and the Empire and everything else relating to them!” I gasped, suddenly out of breath. Solän'cae looked as excited as I felt.

Then she squealed. I was too shocked to do anything but stare as she started dancing around the room, purring and singing out random words. “This is… I cannot…. Solän'cae doesn’t know how to react to this! We must find the other books like this one! We must search the library to see what else we can find about these cubs of Martin Septim! What if we find the now-living cub? What if there is more than one cub? A litter?” she squealed again, and darted for a bookshelf, her tail raised and swishing impatiently from side to side. “If we find nothing here, then we will need to find information on Al'Kardho – the Champion of Cyrodiil – for surely he and his cubs will know about the Septim cubs! Only then will we go to the College – I am sure that there will be many things to find here!”

I laughed, and joined her enthusiastic search, asking her a million questions about the Khajiit Champion and Elsweyr while we turned Cloud Ruler Temple upside down and inside out for any and all books we could find that we could sort of read if we squinted at the page hard enough for long enough. And used more than a little of our imaginations.

When we stopped for lunch to stretch and take a break from the reading, I asked about what would happen if the rest of today turned out to be as fruitless as this morning. “Then we leave for Skyrim tomorrow, and spend the night here?” I checked. Solän'cae nodded. We beamed at each other. How exciting! We both poured over the book for the rest of the day, and when we weren’t staring down at the pages, we were raiding the library and every other part of Cloud Ruler for hints to other tomes like the one I had found, clues as to where we would be able to research the matter more closely. We even started looking for any documents relating to Al'Kardho, if we could find any at all. Even a fleeting mention was worth making notes about.

Nothing substantial came up.

The most we got was a brief mention of Al'Kardho, and the sacrifices he had made for Tamriel, only to be unfairly exiled from Cyrodiil. This sent Solän'cae into an uproar – why, who and what had happened? He was a hero of her people, the very thing to strive towards! What had happened? These documents had to be false, had to be stories to discourage the curious….

But we both knew they were as true and original as they could get.

Eventually we gave up the search, and settled for heading to the other side of Skyrim before attempting to delve deeper into this mystery of ours. We also agreed to keep the knowledge to ourselves – Divines alone know what might happen to us if it got out to the wrong people. Solän'cae seemed very nonchalant about being captured and tortured for this information – I was a lot more anxious about that prospect. But then, I had never really befriended a Khajiit before, so perhaps her expressions were very different to mine.

But, all was still well, and tomorrow we would reach (if not cross) the border to Skyrim. We’d already planned the route to a certain degree. We stop at Helgen, an Imperial-governed village, and hope to find a trading caravan or wagon headed northeast to Winterhold. Safety in numbers, especially with rumored unrest in Skyrim – apparently the Nords hadn't taken to the Thalmor as well as the Empire had hoped, and some Nord Count (or that equivalent) called Ulfric Stormcloak had taken it upon himself to challenge the High King and kill him. He had even amassed an army to support him. What the actual story behind it all was, I didn’t know – but it would make Skyrim an expensive and dangerous place to live in, never mind travel through.

We would also be buying warmer furs and clothes for the journey while we were in Helgen. But that was as far as our plan went, and most of it would rely on my ability to track and hunt game for food, since we had barely enough coin between us to buy what we needed. But I would be a whole province away from where I had acquired my goods, so I would probably be able to sell them all fairly easily. I hoped so, anyway. Thereafter, the only thing we needed to worry about was whether or not the Stormcloaks would be doing some guerilla attack on random travelers.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We made it to Helgen without a hitch. Solän'cae’s fur grew thicker and slightly longer as we moved through the mountain passes and the snow, while I wrapped myself in thick fur cloaks over my warm woolen clothes and fur shoes. I was used to the coastal city of Anvil, and the warmer clime of Cyrodiil. This was downright _freezing_. I had packed the tome into my pack, carefully wrapping it in extra clothes. It was a heavy load in my pack, but a strangely comforting one – it was full of knowledge and secrets and I wanted to know what it was all about, regardless of where it would take me.

Well, some things were extreme, but I’d decide which bridges to burn once I built them.

Helgen came into view roughly a week and some after we left Cloud Ruler Temple, and both of us were grateful for the sight of stone and wood buildings, friendly faces and the Imperial banners flying in the wind. We paid for a room at the inn, and I sold my ill-gotten goods at the general trader without a hitch. It was a quiet, calm day right up till late afternoon.

Then an Imperial messenger came into town, and the soldiers were all a-buzz: General Tullius was on his way here, as was First Emissary Elenwen of the Thalmor. Why, the townsfolk asked, suspicious of the sudden activity.

Why, Ulfric Stormcloak and a handful of his bodyguards had been successfully ambushed at Darkwater Crossing, just as their informant had told them, and they had been captured.

Ulfric Stormcloak was to be executed for treason, along with his bodyguards. Here, in Helgen, by the end of the week.

Solän'cae and I looked at each other. We’d be here for the week, then. We’d watch as history was made or broken, for better or worse.


	3. Dovahkiin, Fah Hin Kogaan Mu Draal (Dragonborn, For Your Blessing We Pray)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and gore here - lots of burning and dying and such. Been a while since I've actually read this chapter but I remember we really went all out with the Helgen attack; please skip if you're not into that. The gory bits are between the second and third asterix sets

It was a long and impatient wait. It was Tirdas when the news came about Ulfric’s capture and impending execution, and Solän'cae and I were impatient for it. Not because we were staunch supporters of the Empire, or even the Thalmor – but because we had never attended an execution before, and we had a morbid curiosity about how it would pan out. How _did_ one go about executing, or being executed? Were the people to die calm and accepting of their fate, or did they scream and beg, and try to run if they could? Would they fight, or would they leave this world with snide remarks?

What would the headsman do? Would he be glad to kill these people, or was his job one that nauseated him to his very core, that every night he would drown his memories in the strongest drink he could afford? What did they crowd do? Cry out in joy, spit at the condemned, weep at the lives taken?

That was what we wanted to know, and know it we would.

The day started out fairly normal – small talk with the innkeeper while we tried – and naturally failed – to have a peaceful breakfast, left the inn, wandered the market and argued with the general trader on behalf of one of the stall owners (from whom I would usually steal a ring or a nondescript amulet no-one would miss), and the general trader would pay us off with ten septims each to tell the stall owner what he wanted to hear. Then I would do my best to look dangerous or busy to avoid playing with the children – why did they always choose me? – while Solän'cae….  
Well, she was a different matter altogether with the children. Hated the ‘furless-ones’ as she called them. One sharp hiss and all her fur on end and they were scampering off, terrified of her. I usually felt awful after that, and ended up buying them all sweets to appease them.  
By the time we hit Loredas, we had a grand total of one-fifty septims between us. My thieving and one hunting trip on Middas had earned us a fair bit of gold. Sadly, paying for board and food, and my recompense of sweets was causing our store to deplete itself, so we were hoping that Ulfric would be here by today – Sundas.

We weren’t disappointed. Around midday, the Imperials called out to General Tullius, informing him that the headsman was waiting. Solän'cae and I exchanged a brief grin from where we stood on the inn porch, leaning against the rail. To our right was a tall stone tower, and we could clearly see the plaza where the Stormcloaks would be executed. The wagons rolled in, pulled by strong bay workhorses. Several of the townspeople catcalled and jeered at the passing rebels, and several parents sent their children inside.

There were only two tightly-packed wagons of manacled Stormcloaks, perhaps thirty of them in total, with the last wagon carrying only three. A Nord man in plain clothes praying to the Divines, a Stormcloak soldier who shot the first a glare and told him that they were all ‘brothers and sisters in binds, Horse Thief’. I raised my brows – that was an offense punishable by death. But the last man in the wagon caught my attention. He was dressed in Nord finery – heavy woolen pants and shirts, a richly dyed and gold embroidered velvet coat and thick furs trimming the entire outfit. He sat calm and straight, staring back at anyone who dared meet his piercing brown eyes. There were scars on his left cheek, and his dark blonde hair was braided back in some Nordic style, his beard neatly trimmed.

But most of all, he was gagged.

 _So some of the rumors are true, then, that his voice has power,_ I thought absently, staring as the wagon passed us and two Imperial soldiers rode past, then dismounted and ground-tying the horses. The Thalmor agents were just behind them, halting a short distance from the inn, but remained in the saddle. Solän'cae made an aggressive noise next to me.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae was glad that the Stormcloaks finally came – she was beginning to think that, just perhaps, they had managed to escape and were on their way back to Windhelm to abuse and hate the other races not of Nordic-kind. Especially us Khajiit and Argonian. Here, in this cold land, this Khajiiti had learned of all the terrible things he had done to the Dark Elves and the Khajiiti and the Argonians, making them work harder, longer, forcing the elves into a slum and the Argonians could not even _enter_ the city…. Solän'cae is glad he is to be put to death for all of that! I hissed, baring my teeth at his cart. _Let him know he is hated, let him know he will not go unpunished for his crimes against the people…._

But not all had been bad, no?

He was the one who started the fight for the Worship of Talos again, after the Concordat was signed. Who were the elves to ban the worship of a people’s god? For that, Solän'cae respects this typical Nord before her, so proud and full of himself, sitting as if he rode upon a golden throne like the Mane of Elsweyr…. Hah! He is but a Nord, a cruel, racist man without thought of the people he wanted to rule, if he were to become this ‘High King’ of Skyrim. Had that tailless, hairless one been a greater Man, perhaps this one could have respected him more for fighting for the people. But he was not, and I will not. This Solän'cae will not bow to a man like that…. I hiss again, growl-meowing at the wagon as it passes.

Then come two Imperial soldiers, riding two horses. They stopped just a bit away from the inn, and get off the horses. The one moves to the wagons, taking a list from another soldier. The second one stays closer to the inn, his not-yet-storm-cloud grey eyes looking at everything, everyone. It looked to this Solän'cae as if he saw the _truth_ of things, as they really were, _who_ they really were. It was unsettling to Solän'cae. Delany didn’t even notice – she was too busy staring at the Racist-Nord-Not-King, Ulfric.

Speaking of, the other Imperial with the list started reading the names of those tailless ones to be executed. Then one broke free, screaming that he couldn’t be executed, he wasn’t a rebel. But he had stolen a horse, yes. A valuable animal. He ran. “Oh, Divines, he’s an idiot,” Delany shook her head, following him with her eyes as he ran past a horse, just to be shot down by archers.  
I laughed. “Yes, to escape this, one needs a horse. Besides, if one steals something so valuable, and is dumb enough to get caught, then one must pay the price.”  
“Yeah…” my hairless-one agreed, looking back at the last of the names to be read out. “It’s going to happ–”

A dull roar cut through the air, and everyone turned to look up at the sky. “Did you hear that, Delany?”  
“Yes; what _was_ that?” she frowned at me. This Solän'cae shrugged. How would either of us know?

“Carry on!” General Tullius called, waving at a Redguard (this Solän'cae thinks, could be a tanned Nord or Imperial; maybe even a Breton) she-Captain as he walked away from Ulfric. The Nord looked ready to kill the Imperial General with his glare. This Solän'cae might have found it funny if she wasn’t so interested in the next part of the execution. A priestess moved to stand next to the she-Captain, behind the headsman. The she-Captain nodded curtly. “Yes, General Tullius! Give them their last rites, Priestess.”  
The woman dipped her head, then raised her arms and looked to the sky. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Divines upon –”

“Oh, for the love of _Talos_ , shut up and let’s get this over with!” a Stormcloak man shouted, striding forwards proudly. I glanced at Delany – she only raised a brow. This was unusual. “I haven't got all morning!” he shouted, standing at the block.

The priestess looked ruffled. “Very well, then,” she stepped back, leaving the plaza immediately.

The she-captain pushed him to his knees, then kicked him to the block. Nodded at the headsman.

The headsman nodded back, the Stormcloak soldier looked up, twisting to glare at the Imperials. “My ancestors are _smiling_ at _me_ , Imperials. Can you say the same?” he sneered.

Then the headsman’s axe came down hard, and the rebel’s head fell into the basket below. This Khajiiti blinked, Delany flinched and half-turned away. The she-Captain pushed the body over, calling a young soldier closer to drag the headless corpse away.

Some called out that this was justice, others called them traitors, a woman to be executed was restrained, and she screamed out that they were all ‘Imperial bastards and milk-drinkers’. What is so bad about drinking milk? Solän'cae isn't _fond_ of it, but it is nice, from time to time.

The roar sounded again, and everyone started getting nervous. The only one who seemed calmly concerned was the not-yet-storm-grey-eyes Imperial. He looked up to the tall mountain – the Throat of the World, apparently – and frowned deeply. It was almost as if he suspected what was at the top of the mountain that was making that roar.

The List-Imperial-Nord soldier asked a few questions of the she-Captain, but she silenced him and ordered the next rebel forwards – one this Khajiiti thought was called Ralof. He stepped forwards, knelt at the block and was kicked over onto the red-life-force-water wet block.

Then the roar became a harsh scream of fury. “What in Oblivion is that?!” General Tullius shouted, pointing at something black in the sky.  
“Sentries, what do you see?” the she-Captain called.  
“It’s in the clouds!”

“Did you see that thing?” Delany asked, eyes wide and questioning.  
This Solän'cae shook her head. “No, not really. It was like a shadow in the night when I noticed it.”

“ _DRAGON!!_ ” a rebel shouted, just as the huge, black, winged thing crashed down onto the tower.

Everything shuddered, and we lost our balance, even so far on the inn porch. The dragon looked around, growled, opened its mouth. The headsman died when something from inside the dragon broke his neck, and then suddenly the sky turned to a storm, burning rocks falling down.

I hissed, Delany screamed as a rock crashed into the inn behind us. Everything burst into flame.

“Come on! We need to get out of here!” the not-yet-storm-grey Imperial! Solän'cae stared. He grabbed my arm and pulled. I hissed, claws scratching at his skin without thought. He glared, then I nodded, running out while he threw an arm around my Delany and led her out and away. It was then her senses came back.

But not good ones.

She came to a halt in the middle of the street. “All my things are in that inn! My weapons, clothes –”  
“You can’t go back! We need to leave this place, Breton!” the Imperial man spoke firmly.  
I grabbed her face between my hands. “You have your life; that is enough. We must go, we _must live_!!”

She stared back, but nodded. “Lead the way, Imperial!” I growled. He nodded, and I grabbed Delany’s hand, hers tightening around mine. We followed quickly, looking up whenever the dragon raced above, fire coming down and lifting soldiers, tearing down stone buildings.

Men screamed as they fell, women wept as the burnt, and the littlest of children were trampled underfoot as we all ran.

The old died when fires broke the wood above their heads, houses and shops crashing down, down! Into each other, the street, starting more fires, making bigger ones. Skyrim had never been so sweltering. It burned even those who stood too close – no need to stand inside the fire. But a _dragon_ ….

Twice rocks nearly fell on us, had it not been for the Imperial helping Solän'cae and Delany. For that, this Khajiiti was grateful.

I still had my sword and bow and quiver – we would be alright for a while. But how…? A _Dragon_? Like Alkosh? The Great Dragon? Impossible!

“Careful!” Delany screamed, pulling me out of the way of a burning beam. I yelped, the sparks singing my tail, my arm. This Solän'cae hissed and spat and ran faster, struggling to keep up with the Imperial man.  
“Come on! This way!” he shouted, waving us along.  
“Yeah, we’re not that fast,” Delany muttered, and I nearly laughed. Maybe I did, this one isn't too sure. The need to get out was strong.

We crossed an open area, where houses had burnt to the ground, where the market used to be. “Nothing _KILLLS THIS THING!!_ ” a soldier screamed, throwing down his weapons and fleeing.  
“Shoot him!” a captain called, grabbing the bow for himself and killing the deserter.

The dragon screamed, swooping low and ripping into the stone parapet, taking soldiers with him and breathing fire down on them.

The sound of battle and dying and the stink of fear and death in war was not something this one appreciated. All because of this black _thing_ , this black dragon.

A woman screamed, tripped over her skirt. One of the horses and wagons rattled past, throwing us off balance and crushing the woman. Her brains were spread around her skull, the pink and stark white too bright against the dirty stone ground. She died before blood could squirt, so it oozed out. It was the pus in the wounds of Helgen. The Imperial pulled us up, pulled us along until we ran on our own just behind him.

Some had soiled themselves, and that stink combined with burning and dying and the screaming and the crying…. Delany convulsed once, pressing a hand to her mouth and running faster.

This Khajiit felt the same.

We ran out through the North Gate, up the road and into the forest for a long time. Finally we stopped behind a few boulders that made a natural shelter, crouching and hiding there.

Listening.

Listening to the sounds of the dragon, those still fighting and dying and burning. The sounds of those who had been left behind to their dark and terrible fate. Those who had not been lucky. Those who had been too slow, too old, too young. The brave, the coward…. All dead and dying in the Oblivion that was Helgen.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We were silent for a long time, lost in our own thoughts. The Imperial healed his arm with magic, and smiled gently while he waved away my apology. I couldn’t look him in the eye very long – he seemed uncomfortable with looking at people. Hours passed, or seconds, or days. Delany stayed the quietest, then suddenly she spoke.

“Everything’s quiet. Listen, nothing’s happening out there,” she said quietly.

We listened – she was right. Nothing was happening out in the wide world. “Do you think it’s gone?” she asked, looking at us.  
“For now, I suppose,” the Imperial said. “I’ll quickly have a look, then I’ll come back and we can head to Riverwood. It’s the closest town, and it’s also the closest to the nearest city, Whiterun.”

He stood, then disappeared around our shelter and scouted the area.

“Well, we’re alive, which is good,” Delany laughed.  
I smiled at her. “Yes, we are alive. And that is _very_ good. Great, in fact,” this Solän'cae grinned, and purred a little. It seemed to make her smile, and at least she was looking more alive now than she had earlier. Solän'cae was grateful for that, too. Delany looked at me. “I’m glad we’re both ok. I’m glad this Imperial came to get us when he did. I was too shocked and scared to do much, honestly,” she half-laughed nervously.  
“This Solän'cae was also scared. She is glad that he came when he did, too.”  
“You scratched him.”  
“I was surprised,” this one replied, nose in the air. Then we smiled and laughed quietly.

Before we could say more, the Imperial returned. “It’s all clear. We can leave for Riverwood. I’d rather we travel as much as we can as quickly as we can – is that alright by you two?”  
We nodded, and Delany stood up. “Thank you, for coming to get us,” she looked at me as this Solän'cae stood. “I guess we owe you our lives,” she blushed, shy.  
He chuckled, a warm sound. “Glad to be of service. I’m Michael, by the way,” he gave us a bright smile. It made him look like a young boy, to this Solän'cae anyway.  
“This Khajiiti is called Solän'cae,” I said, looking him over, and taking my bow and quiver off to give to Delany.  
“I’m Delany,” she smiled, taking my quiver and tying it to her back, carrying my bow in her hand.

“Solahn'shai – I apologize; I’m not good with Khajiit names – and Delany. Pleased to meet you, though the circumstances are unfortunate. Let’s go!” he turned, glancing back to make sure we followed.

To Riverwood we went.


	4. Riverwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This introduces the third of four main POVs that will be present in this story

This Solän'cae hissed and turned away when the sudden stink of Helgen gusted by on the wind. Delany nearly lost what-felt-like-yesterday’s breakfast.

Only Michael stayed calm, pulling out cloth and covering his mouth and nose. He turned to give us each one. “It doesn’t block all of it, but it makes it tolerable,” his voice was muffled under the cloth. We grabbed it gratefully, and this Solän'cae was unspeakably grateful for the protection over her muzzle. Delany scowled at the ground, and took the lead, walking towards the burnt village.

This one had to assume she had decided that her things were too important to leave behind, and were worth the risk to save. That was the only reason we were going back to the South, when Delany suddenly insisted she needed to return.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The stench of death, burning people and other awful things I didn’t even want to think about as the sudden wind picked up around Helgen was overwhelming. I wasn’t squeamish, as a rule – I could kill if I needed to, and skin and gut animals when I went hunting, but the _smell_ ….

_That_ was what I couldn’t handle. Combine all of that with the fact that we had been attacked with what _had_ to be a dragon… and you have a Breton thief in denial. Well, to a certain degree. Walking through the proof of what happened with a rag over your mouth and nose is a great way to kick yourself out of denial. I scowled at the ground in front of me, and shifted Solän'cae’s glass quiver on my back, gripping the bow a little tighter and striding around the debris and bodies and smoldering beams. No need to linger, and if there was anything left of my pack in the inn, I wanted to save it.

Specifically, I wanted the Septim Tome. I wanted to know it was still whole, that I could still save the knowledge hidden inside it….

The inn came into view ahead of us, and I broke into a sprint, racing for the ruined building.

There was a hole where our room had been, fires licking at the wood. I threw down the bow, and leapt through the hole.

Michael shouted, Solän'cae hissed.

I needed that book, if nothing else.

The bed had saved my pack from most of the fire, so I hauled it out and threw it out the hole in the wall, coughing. I followed it as soon as it thudded on the stone outside doubling over in the cool, clear air and coughing. I gestured at Solän'cae, throwing her a questioning look and pointed at the inn, coughing some more. I hoped she’d understand I was asking if she wanted her pack. She growled at me. “No, there is nothing left in there that this one would want at the risk of her friend. We must go,” she grabbed the pack, carefully glaring at Michael; a silent dare to ask about my pack and what was specifically so important about it.

I stretched, and offered him – what I hoped was – I bright grin. “Let’s go!” I said, picking up the bow and following Solän'cae. We had quite a distance to travel, and I wanted to get to a warm bed and a thriving village soon. The stench that hung thick in the air around Helgen was suffocating in more ways than just physically. Michael followed behind us, and we left through the same gate we fled through originally.

I turned my head slightly when the chink of armor and dull thud of feet came up closer to slow next to me. “You alright after that?” Michael asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. I smiled tightly, nodding and hefting my quiver to a more comfortable position on my back, breaking his gaze. While Michael had a certain air about him that made me feel safe, I couldn’t look him in the eye for very long. Both because he broke contact before I could really look at his grey eyes, and because there was _something else_ there, too.

But I was probably just imagining that, after everything we’d been through. “Yeah, I’m ok. Alive, which is great. And I have everything that’s especially precious to me, too, so I guess life’s good.” I flashed him a smile only to see he was looking ahead again, the corner of his mouth twitching to a half-smile. “Good.”

_Well, that wasn’t awkward at all – grinning at someone’s cheek_.

Solän'cae suddenly stopped, her eyes wide when she turned to stare at me. I stared back, confused at first, but before I could frown I nodded quickly, realizing that she had just thought about the book, too. Her shoulders sagged visibly with relief when she sighed, and I let out a nervous laugh. Solän'cae turned and kept walking, her tail-tip twitching from side to side.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stared at the odd pair for a moment after the Khajiit started walking again. Something in that pack the slight Breton had recovered was worth a fortune in secrets, and whatever it was, it was important. I trudged after them, keeping pace with Delany. Of the two, I trusted her more. She lacked the apparent darkness within the Khajiit – Solahnshai, Sol-ahntchai…. I sighed through my nose. I doubted I would be able to say her name quite right. There was something that was carefully violent inside her, and yet she was also very protective of Delany.

Delany, however, was more mischievous than her companion, and far more complicated. _You’re imagining things, Michael_ , I thought to myself. _It must be because I keep seeing her dark blue eyes and then remembering she will know I am different if I stare too long._ I glanced up at the sky to the west – we would need to set up a camp soon, and assign watches through the night. If Solän'cae – _I believe I succeeded for once_ , I commented wryly – kept moving at this pace, we would reach the Guardian Stones by midday, late afternoon tomorrow, and we would be in Riverwood sometime after nightfall.

Delphine would still have the inn open, and at least three rooms free, not counting those private rooms in the basement. They would be alright from that point on, but after this… I needed to get to Solitude, and find out whether or not Tullius had managed to escape, and if he hadn’t, who would take his place as General in Skyrim. Ulfric had no doubt managed to slip away in the confusion, and whether or not he had helped his men escape was possibly a matter for debate.

While the man had great ideals of honor and glory, his reasoning seemed flawed at best. Did he –

“We need to stop and make camp,” the two women chorused, grinning tightly at each other. My jaw clenched and I looked away from them. They were still dealing with everything that had happened. Today would still be fresh in their minds for a long time, no matter how strong they were. And strength was something that made up their very souls. “Seasoned travelers. At least one of you knows how to hunt, yes?” I glanced quickly between them, lingering just too long on Delany’s smug smile before taking in Solan-tchai’s smirk.

“You’re in luck – I hunt, and I’m pretty damned good at it, too. Here’s to hoping Lady Luck still smiles on me,” she quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll see if I can find something small – we really shouldn’t carry raw meat around in the wild for a variety of reasons,” she probably looked between us, and trudged off into the woods. That left me with the bizarre contrast that was Solahnshai – snow-white fur hiding a kind of darkness blacker than Oblivion. Her ice-blue eyes were a sharp contrast to Delany’s, and I suspected the Khajiit was far more aware and alert than her relaxed, nonchalant mannerisms gave off.

We were left alone to set up camp until Delany returned.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I returned with my prize – two rabbits. I had no idea how we were going to skin and prepare them with two swords, but it was doable, I supposed. _Actually, you’ve just forgotten how to do it. And…. Actually I don’t trust myself to be steady enough to prepare them properly._

A small fire was flickering in the almost-twilight of Skyrim, and I held out the rabbits proudly when I entered the firelight. “I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I won’t complain – thank the Divines for them! Now it’s just remembering how to skin them with a sword,” I grinned, putting down the bow. Solän'cae seemed to relax when she looked at me, her whiskers twitching slightly. Michael stood and took them from me, his eyes focused on the tawny creatures. He set to work immediately, the tiny things skinned, gutted and spitted over the fire by the time the sun disappeared behind a mountain, a monumental structure perched on its peak. I squinted at the tall arches, and pointed. “What _is_ that?”  
Solän'cae shrugged, and Michael followed my finger to the mountain. He nodded to himself. “Bleak Falls Barrow. It overlooks the village of Riverwood. It’s about a day’s hike to the top where the barrow is situated. According to most people, it _is_ abandoned, but that only means no-one is brave enough to find out if there really _are_ bandits hiding at the top somewhere.” He threw us a grin. Solän'cae and I exchanged a glance – we’d head up, and find out.

Michael took the first watch, and Solän'cae and I fell asleep quickly. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The kind of sleep the dead might have.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“And these are the Guardian Stones, the three Protectors of the Standing Stones in Skyrim,” Michael pointed at some time after midday. Solän'cae set the pace we travelled at, and she traveled quickly. I suspected she wanted to get rid of Michael's company – she had made it clear today that she didn’t trust him all that much – not _explicitly_ , of course. Just… _implicitly,_ I guess – there wasn’t really another word to describe how she treated him.

He was useful to her, and she respected his ability to fight – we had walked into an ambush by three wolves – but other than that…. Michael had best stay out of her way. I wondered what had happened between them to make her so distrustful of him. I hadn't been able to ask.

I walked up to the three stones, Mage, Thief, and Warrior. “The way you said that makes me think that _all thirteen_ are out there in the wilds?” I questioned, glancing back at him as I walked up the dais. Michael nodded. “Interesting,” I murmured to myself, touching the warm brown stones, their smooth faces so carefully carved to show the images of the Three Guardian constellations. I idly wondered how many travelers and hopefuls had touched their surfaces smooth over the years and prayed for the blessing of the stones.

Solän'cae stood next to me, and we glanced at each other before staring at the stones. _Thief would be useful to me, considering my current occupation, but I really_ am _more interested in honing my magic…_ I thought, staring first at the Thief to my left, then the Mage in front of me. I didn’t even bother looking to the Warrior by my right. Solän'cae and I moved at the same time – she walked up to the Thief Stone, laying her right palm flat against the constellation, just as I did to the Mage Stone. _I pray for your blessing_ , I rested my forehead against the stone, then stepped back. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to receive a blessing.

But before I could let my hand fall to my side, a kind of energy washed over me. I gasped, staring at the stone as it glowed a soft blue-green. Solän'cae purred happily to my right: apparently, she had also been blessed by the Thief. She turned to smirk at me. “It seems to this Khajiiti, we are going the right way, yes?” she grinned, her tail high and swishing from side to side.  
“It really does!” I turned and walked towards Michael with Solän'cae. “And what about you? Aren't you going to choose a stone?” I pressed.  
Michael’s mouth twitched slightly as he looked away from me. “I have no intention to choose a Stone. _Yet_ ,” he added, meeting my gaze briefly.

I frowned at him. “Choose a Stone.”  
He looked at me again. I pouted a little, changing my expression from determination to plea. “Please? You never know – maybe you’d also get the Stone’s blessing, like we did!”

Michael sighed. Flexed his jaw. _His strong, square jaw…._ I noted, and he brushed his dark brown hair away from his face. _He’s attractive,_ I thought, trying hard not to start grinning and blushing. “Fine, fine,” he breathed, and I grinned, throwing a fist into the air. “Yes!” I cheered, blushing when I met Solän'cae’s playfully accusing look.

We watched the Imperial walk right up to the Warrior Stone without hesitation. But when he stood there, facing the stone, he wavered for a moment. Then he touched the stone, and it glowed a dark blue before fading. Then Michael turned, glancing at us briefly with his clear grey eyes. “We need to keep moving – we’ve wasted enough time here,” he gestured at the road sloping down to the river.

Solän'cae nodded, and waited for him to take the lead before walking next to me. She purred quietly, almost humming.

 

* * * * * * *

 

My feet hurt and I was exhausted when we finally stumbled into Riverwood. Well, _I_ stumbled, Michael walked and Solän'cae tried to catch me when I tripped over my own feet, but instead we crashed into each other and stumbled into one of the thick posts that made up the guard parapets. “Oowwww…” I whined, and then snorted when Solän'cae giggled. “This is Bruma all over again,” I chortled.

We straightened and managed to catch up to our confused-looking Imperial guide. “We can walk to an inn, but that is as far we will go. Well, it is as far as _this_ Solän'cae will go. I cannot speak for this hairless, clumsy cub,” she said, mussing my hair and gesturing at the main road behind him. He stared at us.

Then he laughed.

But before I could really appreciate the deep, happy sound, he stopped and walked to a loud, well-lit building down the street. “Welcome to the Sleeping Giant,” he said, holding the door for us.

It was busy, with many travelers and villagers eating and drinking and being merry. A dark-haired man at the bar froze while wiping a tankard. He narrowed his eyes at us when the door closed, and shouted to a room. A blonde woman stormed out, glaring at the barman, then she turned to the door. I thought Michael looked frustrated for a second, swearing to himself just as the blonde woman charged up, her face in a deep frown.

“Where have you _been_ , Michael?!” she hissed, stopping just short of grabbing him. “You were supposed to send a letter from your next post! You _didn’t_!”  
“Delphine,” Michael soothed.  
“And then when I try to find out where you are –”  
“Delphine.”  
“– they tell me _YOU’VE BEEN CALLED OUT ON A SPECIAL MISSION!! WHAT –_ ”

“ _Enough!_ ” Michael half-hissed, half-shouted over Delphine. Staring at her pointedly, or glaring. I glanced at Solän'cae to see her staring at Michael with narrowed eyes. Delphine’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, shifting uncomfortably. Then her face set again and she opened her mouth to argue. Michael raised his hand. “ _My companions_ and I have traveled far, and would appreciate food, drinks and beds for the evening.”

I glanced between Michael and Delphine, unsure of what to make of his sudden outburst compared to his typically stoic and somewhat charming manner. _And what’s the story between them? They don’t look like family, and neither are wearing wedding bands…._ I was surprised by how disappointed I was by the idea of Michael being married to someone, and not just _someone_ , but this ordinary, boring _innkeeper_ woman. _I shouldn’t judge them, I shouldn’t judge her – but really, she's not even_ that _pretty…._ I stared at her, even as she stared at me and Solän'cae. _Nope, not that pretty at all._

I grinned brightly at her. “Delany, and this is Solän' _cae_ , my friend. Michael helped us out of a tight spot…” I trailed, and I could tell my smile faltered.  
“Perhaps, if this one can suggest, a place to sit is a good place to start when traveling. If you want to question your hairless-tomcat-Imperial, do so without impairing your other guests,” Solän'cae quipped, her nose in the air and turning to stare at the rest of the inn as if it had not only offended her, but her entire family, legacy and heritage as well. _Maybe even her fate_ , I almost laughed at Solän'cae, and Delphine. I just smiled tightly at the woman, and she waved us on. “Come, I’ll set the two of you up in rooms. Michael, you know where your room is.”

Solän'cae and I followed Delphine, and I tried to be discrete about looking to see where Michael was headed. “Lovesick kitten,” Solän'cae mock-chided, her eyes shining.  
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, why don’t you trust him?” I asked, jumping on the matter. Delphine left us to our own devices, promising hot food when we came back to the common room.  
“There is something strange about him. He sees too much, knows everything and somehow hides it all. I do not like that he seems to know as much about me as I do. Then there is also that no-eye-touch, ah, eye _contact_ , he likes doing. It is strange, like that of a servant and not an Imperial Legion soldier.”  
I nodded thoughtfully, putting my pack on the bed, and returning Solän'cae’s bow and quiver to her. “I see your point. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll see him again after this,” I stretched.  
“Probably not – but perhaps you will write each other!” Solän'cae giggled. I merely clucked my tongue at her, feeling my ears go warm.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The food was perfect, this Solän'cae had to admit. And she was secretly glad that the Imperial was busy with the woman. I didn’t trust him at all – one must look another in the eye more often. But, but! This one was glad that Delany had given me a reason to tease her a little – it was funny to see the hairless-ones turn pink and red when they were embarrassed or shy. And while I had thought it was the _faces_ that went pink and red, Delany proved it was the _ears_.

That one’s ears turned a red to shame a tomato, a red even, to shame the life-water-blood seen at Helgen.

Later, when the woman came to talk to us, she asked that we tell the Jarl of Whiterun about the dragon. Michael told us he could be found either through the Legion at Solitude, or through this woman, Delphine. it was more for Delany’s sake than mine, that this Khajiiti knew.

But most of all, we were happy to fall into a safe, soft bed.


	5. Broken Puppet

Michael left for Solitude before we were even awake the next morning, and we left soon after breakfast at Delphine's continued insistence we tell the Jarl – apparently that was a Nord title similar to a Count, but independent of a king or emperor – that there was a dragon and reinforcements to Riverwood were needed. And so we left for the Hold’s capital. Solän'cae was almost irritated that I had agreed to the ‘menial’ task for both of us. To her, this was an obstacle in our journey to Winterhold and the College there.

And even _that_ wasn’t what she really wanted to do in Skyrim – she wanted to find the Dark Brotherhood, and she hadn't even started her search yet.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Sometimes this one wished Delany would spend less time helping others and more time being selfish. True, we would have stopped at Whiterun for a cart to Winterhold, probably, but now we had to go _into_ the city, and spend the night, most probably. It was infuriating to be wasting so much time, though this Solän'cae understands that the people of this village need more than just the two guards keeping the peace in the inn. And so we set out. Michael was – this Solän'cae was grateful for that – already gone when we woke up. Delany seemed a little upset, but she brushed it off quickly.

She even seemed to forget about him once we entered the city, and managed to ask a smith about her trade. _Is there anything this hairless-one will_ not _try to learn?_ I wondered, just as she turned and hurried me along to the Jarl’s palace, a place called Dragonsreach. I would ask the steward there for the place’s history. And then probably explain it over to Delany after she dealt with Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.

Thinking about all this history, though, made me think about the books I had saved from Cloud Ruler Temple and had lost in Helgen. Thankfully, I had read them all before Helgen, either at the Fortress of the Blades, or during our stay at Helgen. There was lots of time to do nothing, especially once Delany had occupied the children with sweets. Awful and horrifying things, those hairless-cubs are: ugly and all-skin and tail-less. This Solän'cae _hated_ hairless-cubs….

“Oh, look at that tree…” Delany pointed, and this Solän'cae looked up.

A great, tall-wide white-bark tree stood in the center of the plaza, beautifully decorated with carved Nordic arches. The tree covered the plaza from one end to the other, and its dark red and green leaves and little white flowers were breath-taking. We stood and stared, gaped, eye-touching the tree over and over again. We were completely enthralled, awe-struck by this tree in the middle of Whiterun.

“She’s beautiful, isn't she?”

The voice made Solän'cae hiss and flinch, ears-flat-teeth-out, and Delany gasped.

“Oh, forgive me,” the priestess of Khenarthi smiled and laughed, touching her mouth. “I thought you heard me coming, but I should know better than to try and talk to people who are admiring the Gildergreen.”  
“Gildergreen? Is that what this tree is called?” Delany grinned, the wide-awe-happy-amazed kind, and stared back at the Gildergreen-tree. The priestess of Khenarthi nodded. “Where does it – _she_ – come from?”  
“This is a daughter-tree of the great tree of Kyne in Eldergleam Sanctuary, south of the village of Kynesgrove in the Eastmarch. The Windhelm Hold,” the priestess added when we looked blankly at her.  
“It must be a great pilgrimage for the devoted of Khenarthi,” I purred, looking back at the tree of our Wind goddess and psychopomp.  
“Indeed it is. If you are ever in that area, you should seek out the beauty of Kyne,” she dipped her head at us, and then left, and we stared at the tree some more. Then we both started walking towards Dragonsreach at the same time. Hopefully this Jarl was more accepting of Khajiit than the other Nords, but this priestess gave this one some hope about the Nords of Whiterun.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Ah, _more_ bootlickers,” a child sneered at this Solän'cae and Delany, and I glared at him, snarling. He merely shrugged and walked away.  
“Well, it seems that Nordic nobles aren't that different from Cyrodiilic nobles,” Delany commented. I hissed.

We had finally entered the keep, and already one of the Jarl’s children had insulted not only this Solän'cae, but her Delany, too. Delany seemed unfazed by the dismissive insult, but this Solän'cae…. Ah, this one wanted to grab that hairless, tailless cub by the scruff of his neck and scratch him to shreds….

“Hey, calm down – he’s just a moody kid,” Delany touched my shoulder. This Khajiiti hadn't even realized she was growling. “Well, his father has a lot of influence around here too, so the whole eye-for-an-eye thing isn't exactly going to work out for you.” She winked, and laughed, then walked up the stairs.

There were lots of stairs until we were finally close to the Jarl, walking towards a great fire-holding-pit when a Dark Elf came to us, drawing her sword while the Jarl argued with his steward.

“Halt! By order of the Jarl, I demand to know your business. He isn't receiving visitors any more today.”  
“We’re here on behalf of Riverwood, and it’s rather urgent. Specifically, Riverwood requests reinforcements,” Delany said, looking serious and imploring at the same time. This one was sure that the Dark Elf woman would turn us away, but she hesitated and sheathed her blade. “Very well, you had best take up the matter with the Jarl himself,” the she-elf beckoned that we follow her, and the Jarl held up a hand to silence his steward when he saw us approaching.

“What is this, Irileth?” he asked gently. _I did not know that ‘gentle’ was something a Nord could do,_ this one confessed to herself.  
“These are two travelers from Riverwood, Jarl Balgruuf. They wish to petition reinforcements for Riverwood.”

That had the Jarl’s attention immediately. “Riverwood requests reinforcements?”  
“Yes, Jarl Balgruuf,” Delany nodded. “They fear that the dragon which attacked and destroyed Helgen only four days ago will return, and without proper aid, they may suffer the same fate.”  
The Jarl sighed deeply, head in his hands for a moment. The Dark Elf and the Jarl’s steward looked shocked. “So you know of this dragon then?”  
“Yes, my Jarl. We were… in Helgen when it attacked,” Delany started, glancing at me. “We had decided to stay on when we heard Ulfric Stormcloak was to be executed, but right before the second Stormcloak could be executed, the dragon appeared from the north; that great mountain, in fact.”  
“Ah, I should have guessed Ulfric was involved in this somehow…. Well, Proventus, what do _you_ think about this ‘dragon’ business, now that the news has been confirmed? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls, against a dragon?”  
The steward looked at a loss, confused. This Khajiiti would not ask for the history of this place from him.  
“My lord,” the Dark Elf, Irileth spoke sharply, but with respect. “We should send troops to Riverwood at once! It is in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains –”  
“The Jarl of Falkreath will see that as a provocation! That we are moving to side with Ulfric, and attack him!” the steward shouted back. This Solän'cae thinks he is a coward.  
“Then let him think so! Riverwood is defenseless against a dragon!” she countered.

“Enough!” the Jarl stood, shouting over the two arguers. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”  
The Dark Elf put her fist to her chest. “Yes, my Jarl.”

The steward pouted. “We should _not_ –”  
“No! I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my Hold, slaughters my _people_!” Jarl Balgruuf snarled.  
The steward shifted, looked down. “If you’ll excuse me, my Jarl, I shall return to my duties,” he said quietly.  
“That would be best,” the Jarl returned, quiet-violent-dangerous.

This Nord has this Solän'cae’s respect. The Nord-king sat down again, slowly and looking us over.  
“Well done, both of you, for seeking me out to tell me of this dragon. Whiterun is in your debt, and I will not forget this.”  
Delany smiled, looking down. But then she turned serious before I could excuse us. “My lord, you mentioned earlier that we had _confirmed_ the news from Helgen…. We thought we were two of three survivors.”  
Balgruuf looked shocked. Apparently that news had escaped him earlier. “Truly? Well, an Imperial soldier by the name of Hadvar came through late last night, making an awful racket about preparing defenses against a dragon before collapsing from exhaustion. Many of us heard – what I can now only confirm – the roars over Bleak Falls Barrow, but I wasn’t sure such a thing could still exist. To have another two survivors from Helgen confirm that there is indeed a dragon on the loose is concerning. You say a third was with you? What happened to your companion?”  
“He set out for Solitude to rejoin the Legion before dawn, my lord,” Delany replied.

So four of us, at least, had made it out of the Oblivion that was Helgen…. Not comforting odds. “Well, thank you for bringing this matter to me. I have a city to tend to, and specifically the improvement of its defenses,” Jarl Balgruuf dismissed us, and this one was glad to be leaving the city – the Dark Brotherhood and knowledge about the Septims and Al’Kardho would not be found here.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We did not have the money to book passage on a cart, so we had to walk-march-trudge north. We found out that Delany’s bow had been destroyed by the fire, so it stayed to become tonight’s firewood. She would keep using mine until she could afford to buy a new one.

And so it came to be, that on our way north, we passed a little man with a big wagon and an even bigger box, stranded next to the road by a farm with a broken wheel and an old-tired horse. “BOTHER AND BEFUDDLE!!” the little man screamed, kicking at his broken wheel, then cursing and grabbing his foot. “Why, oh, why?! Sweet Mother!!”

Delany raised both of her little hair-stripes-above-eyes. “Well, a jester in Skyrim is something I never thought I’d see….” She looked like she wanted to keep walking, but there was something about this little man, this jester-merry-man, that caught this Solän'cae’s attention, and she would have her curiosity filled. Hopefully it would not kill her, but then, Khajiit are not really _cats_ ….

“What is the matter?” this one asks. Delany makes a whining noise in her throat – she does not like the man much.  
“Cicero is stuck, can’t you see?!” he shouted, pointing. Then this Cicero sighed, head-in-hands. “Sorry, so sorry – he didn’t mean to shout. It’s just, Cicero is stuck, moving his mother – well, mother’s _corpse_ –” he giggled, “– she’s quite dead, you see, but though we are at rest, we are too still! Too still and unmoving! We need to reach the new home! The new crypt for Mother!”’

This Solän'cae was beginning to wish she hadn't asked, but there was still something about the man and his wagon, and the box. Was there really a corpse inside? “What can we do to help?” Delany asked quickly.  
“Would the two kindly, lovely lady strangers help? Truly, TRULY?!” he ran over, hands clasped at his chest, grey eyes big.

This one nodded. “We will help. What can this Solän'cae and her Delany do for you?”  
“OOOHH!! Thank you, thank you!! Oh, Cicero would be most grateful, most grateful _indeed_ if you could help!” he jumped up and down, clapping and dancing. “See that farm, over there on the hill? That’s the _Loreius_ Farm, where _Loreius_ lives. He has tools, he has knowledge, he can help me!”

We stared, waiting for him to continue. “But he won’t help you, and we need to change his mind?” Delany checked.  
Cicero almost nodded his hat-head off. “Oh, yes please! Convince him to help, and I shall reward both of you with clinky, shiny, GLEAMY GOLD!” he cackled, clapped and danced.

“I’ll stay here, you go ask them for help,” Delany said, dropping her pack to the road and rolling her shoulders.  
“This one must go ask for help?!” I pointed to myself. How would this Khajiiti from Elsweyr convince a Nord farmer to help a jester-merry-man?  
Delany grinned smugly – this one wanted to wipe it off with sharp claws, for a second. But then she felt bad for thinking so. “Well, _you_ asked what this is about, so it’s up to you to make sure he gets the help he needs. I’ll make sure he stays out of _more_ trouble than he’s already in.”  
This one growled. “Very well, I shall try to convince the farmer.”  
“Good luck – thought I know you’ll succeed,” Delany winked, sitting down in the middle of the road.

_The hairless-tail-less ones are indeed strange creatures,_ this one thought, shaking her head, stalking up the road to the farm-and-farm’s-farmer.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Of all the people Solän' _cae_ chose to help, it had to be a crazy jester. One with a dangerous undertone and a very irritating voice. But the clothes he wore…. The red, black and gold motley was just too dark, just too…. _It’s almost too ominous for a jester to be wearing colors like that. It’s almost what I would imagine a Dark Brotherhood jester would wear._

My sudden train of thought made my eyes go wide, and I stared at the jester just as he turned to look at me. The smile he gave me….

I stood up immediately, dusting myself off and offering a grin. “I think I see Solän' _cae_ on her way back with Loreius!” I pointed to the farm, where a bristled-looking Khajiit was leading a sheepish-looking Nord with what looked like a toolbox. Then he stopped, explained something to Solän' _cae,_ and she nodded impatiently, then came back to us.

“So, where are you headed? Well, which Hold?” I asked. Maybe, instead of gold, he could give us a ride to at least Windhelm, if he was going that way.  
Cicero narrowed his eyes at me. “Cicero is headed to Falkreath Hold.”  
“Oh, I see. Well, I was hoping we could catch a ride with you, but we’re headed up to Winterhold,” I smiled tightly. He was beginning to make me uncomfortable – when was Solän' _cae_ going to get here?  
“Oh! Cicero understands! Yes, it _is_ quite a walk up there, cold too, this Fool of Hearts hears. But sadly – or happily – I am going where it’s _MUCH_ warmer!” he giggled, suddenly happy again.

“Lorieus will come, this Khajiiti has made him promise. He is just fetching the last of his tools, then he will be here,” Solän' _cae_ said as soon as she was within earshot.

The jester squealed with glee, ran up to her and grabbed her in a sudden hug she was too shocked to respond more to than the baring of teeth and hissing. And then suddenly _I_ was in such an embrace.  
“Oh, thank you, thank you kindly strangers! This Cicero is _most_ indebted to you! And Mother too! Oh, he’s sure if his sweet Mother could speak, she would thank you too!”

I pursed my lips and pulled a face as soon as his back was turned – a corpse, speaking? Far too much madness for me.

“Here, kindly strangers! Gleamy coin as promised!” the jester fished out a smaller box from the wagon, counted out an amount briefly which he divided into two pouches. “Cicero will wait for Lorieus, until he fixes our wheel! Thank you, thank you! A few coins for a kind deed!” he pressed the pouches into our hands, and waved us off with a little jig.

“This Solän'cae almost regrets doing that – but there was something too interesting about that hairless-tomcat than this one begins to understand. There is something beneath the surface, which this one doubts he will tell if asked.”  
“You got that too, huh?” I glanced at her. “He’s rather scary in an unpredictable, crazy kind of way.”  
“This one agrees. That is what makes him so _very_ interesting to this one…” she trailed, and we walked in silence for a long time.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Windhelm.

The city of Khajiit-haters and Argonian-haters and Dark-Elf-haters and haters-of-all-who-are-not-Nord. It took us over three hours to convince the guards to let this Solän'cae into the gate, and that only happened as soon as Delany mentioned that she had _paid_ me to accompany her, and then that her family had raised me from cub to protect her.

How insulting and demeaning. But this one knows that her Delany meant well – it was all to get us inside the city. It was now after dark, and we needed a place to sleep. Candlehearth Hall would not let me in, so we were forced to go down to what the Nords called the Grey Quarter. This Solän'cae called it filth-slum-ghetto.

Why would anyone want to live here? Rather risk the roads for a better place than this, but that was Solän'cae’s opinion. Perhaps these Dark Elves had no means to leave. So we ended up at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, the only other inn. Delany could have stayed at Candlehearth, being Breton and closer to Nord-looking, but she did not. For that, this one is proud-sad-angry.

Delany went in first, the snow and wind harder on her skin than this one’s thick fur. The club was silent, and this one was half-out still.

“Oh, come slumming in the Grey Quarter, then?”

Delany took a step back. This Solän'cae hissed and snarled, moving her out of the way. “This is a cold, angry-tired Khajiit sick of racist-Nords and now of racist-Dark-Elves, so everyone here will shut up about _my Breton_ and give us a room, beds, food and good drinks. Now, this Khajiiti has made herself clear: do it, and then go back to drinking and eating and doing whatever you do here!”

The club stayed silent, and I slammed the door shut, shaking off the snow.

“Welcome to the New Gnisis Cornerclub. I’m Malthyr Elenil, and I work here for Ambarys Rendar, the innkeeper. It’s ten septims per person for a room per night, and twenty for that plus a hot meal and a bath.”  
“Oh, Divines _yes_!” Delany breathed. The entire inn stared at her – even this Solän'cae. It sounded as if she had called her lover’s name. She blushed. “Uhm, well, we’ve been on the road a while….” She hid her face behind a hand. Malthyr just laughed. “Very well, then. I’ll show you to your room, and prepare the rest for you.”

The innkeeper, Ambarys, just sneered at her as she passed, following the Dark Elf while I paid forty gold septims for us. We had each gotten a hundred-thirty from the jester-merry-man, and we had spent a night at Nightgate Inn too, so we were down a bit money-wise, but soon we would be in the College. All was well.

“This one’s Breton could have stayed with the Nords. She chose to come with her Khajiit instead. Let this one even _think_ she heard a bad word of her Breton, and there will be trouble, Innkeeper,” this one hissed quietly, just as the noise picked up again and Delany came back, without her pack to lead me to the room. The innkeeper was furious. “You keep to yourselves here, and _we_ won’t have a problem,” he sneered back, grabbing the gold and counting it again.

This one couldn’t wait for a bath – her fur was no longer crisp-white-cold-rain-from-Skyrim white, but a kind of dirty-grey-brown from travel. It was _disgusting_ – white should always be perfectly white, no matter the cost. Especially if I, the only Solän'cae, could help it.


	6. The Parting Glass

It was that night, after the promised warm bath, all clean and white-furred, sitting with wet-hair-Delany, eating hot food and some strange drink that made this Solän'cae feel warm and fuzzy and happy, that she heard about _them_.

The Dark Brotherhood.

There was a boy, a young Imperial child called Aventus Aretino, orphaned when his mother died just a few months ago and sent to Honorhall Orphanage – from where he escaped to return here – who was trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood to kill someone. This Solän'cae had made a promise to search for knowledge about the Septim Dynasty and Al'Kardho, but she had made an _oath_ to find the Dark Brotherhood. The want-thirst-need to kill was rising in this Solän'cae, and she couldn’t wait any longer to take the life of another…. And, then it was a cub requesting the murder of another! They were so like Mehrunez – so innocent and foolish, and especially dangerous because of that. I couldn’t wait to deal with the Mehrunez-hairless-cub.

This was the chance.

 _My_ chance to find them, to prove I was worthy of their ranks and that this Solän'cae would be invaluable to rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood. I would have to leave Delany to find the truth on her own. I could see, when she heard the Dunmer woman talk about it as well, that she knew she would go alone from here on. I would leave to find what I had come looking for.

Even though I would miss my hairless-Breton Delany, I was on the way to fulfilling my purpose here in Skyrim.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Breakfast was tense – we were both avoiding the mammoth in the room concerning the Dark Brotherhood, the Septim Dynasty, and what we were going to do now. I wanted to research what we had found, but I also wanted Solän' _cae_ to come with me. I wanted her to be with me when we found out something new and amazing, _and_ I wanted her to find what she was looking for, what she came to do.

Eventually we wandered the markets, and I bought a simple but sturdy hunting bow to replace my now-ashes-and-dust iron bow. We wandered through the city for a while, and finally ended up outside the Aretino Residence. I looked up to Solän' _cae_ , and offered her a small smile.

“Well, good luck,” I held out my hand, and jerked my head to the door. “He’s probably waiting for someone like you to walk in and help him. If you ever need anything, or just feel like it, you write to me at the College, and I’ll send something your way whenever you’re not travelling too much. I’ll let you know if I find anything, Solän' _cae_. And I hope you find them.”  
Solän' _cae_ grinned, her sharp teeth glinting in the light as she took my hand and shook it firmly, in mock-seriousness. “To you too, Delany. I hope you find what we were looking for, in that College.”

We grinned at each other, hands clasped, before embracing.

I turned and left for the stables to book the last cart out to Winterhold, while she turned to pick the lock of the house.

Neither of us looked back.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Windhelm was snowy and windy, but Winterhold was just ice and frozen sea spray. There wasn’t much left of the city, and what there was, were ramshackle wooden buildings, stooped under the weight of ice and snow. I hurried down the main street, glancing quickly at a few destroyed shacks before slipping along the ice and skidding into the inn. I shuddered from the sudden change in temperature – the inn was wonderfully warm, and I stumbled to the fire to warm myself better.

A dark chuckle made me turn to a Wood Elf behind me. “I take it you’re not from here? Don’t worry – you’ll get used to the cold and the snow eventually. I think I could help with that, actually….” He trailed suggestively. I scowled at him as best I could, about to snap at him when he waved a hand and stood, walking to me. “I’m Enthir. Boy, bring her some Nord mead for the cold.”

I eyed him carefully. He had strawberry blonde hair, shaved at the sides and back, and long down the middle, falling down to one side over his left eye. “What do you want?” I asked coldly, wanting this Bosmer to leave me alone.  
He scoffed, looking at me before handing a young Nord boy a handful of coins and taking a tankard of Nord mead and handing it to me. “What _I_ want? The question is, what do _you_ want in Winterhold?”  
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I hesitated before taking the mead from him. It was warmed, and from what I could smell, slightly spiced. It would be perfect to chase away the last of the chills I had.  
“My business is knowing everyone else’s business. There are few reasons people come to Winterhold, and they are: to learn something or buy spell tomes from Nelacar, to do business, or to try and get into the Mages College of Winterhold. Since you frowned when I mentioned Nelacar, you’re not here for him; you look confused when I mention business, so that means you're here for the College,” he finished. I narrowed my eyes at him, deciding to sip the mead despite my better judgment. He would want a favor if I asked any further questions, and what that favor would be might be something I couldn’t afford to give. Enthir sniffed, staring at the fire. “A word of advice when dealing with Faralda tomorrow – choose your words wisely, because it will determine your entrance test to the College. And, I actually _have_ business to attend to….” He turned to leave, walking to a darker corner of the inn.  
“What if I told Faralda I only wanted to access the library?” I called.

Enthir stopped, and half-turned to look me over with a smirk. “She’ll turn you away without even asking you why you want in.”  
“And what do you want from me for all this?”  
“Information for information. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m _late_.”

 _Asshole,_ I thought, drinking the mead more readily as it warmed me a little more. I wandered to the bar, paid for food and board, and spent some time thinking about what kind of answer I would give this ‘Faralda’ tomorrow. Was she the one to test all would-be students, or was she actually the Archmage? I hadn't even thought to ask that, but then – would I really want to ask _Enthir_? I supposed he would want the same amount or value of information from me. But how much did I really value what he had told me?  
I shook my head and opted for bed – I’d figure it out in the morning.

 

* * * * * * *

 

At least the wind had stopped blowing by the time morning came around. I must have broken my mind, and I had definitely destroyed my appetite thinking about what I might have to say to Faralda to get in. Until I reached the conclusion that she might not even be there, and that had been a tactic to try and dissuade me.

Not that I felt any better about it, though.

I followed the main road through Winterhold to the west, and up a stone walkway up to a tall, narrow arch. An Altmer woman in the dark orange, red and black Master Destruction robes leaned against the arch, her arms crossed as she watched me walk closer. She raised two fingers to stop me, not bothering to move anything else. “Halt. I am Faralda, the Gatekeeper of the Mages College of Winterhold. State your name and business, and what you expect to find within the College.”  
_Shit. Enthir was right – there_ is _a Faralda and she_ does _deal with prospective students._ “I’m Delany –” _I need to stall for time_! “– and I have some skill in magic. I seek to expand on what I know, and use the knowledge I can gain from inside the College to aid me in my travels.” I grinned when she looked disinterested. “But…. Mostly, I just wanted to see what it looks like inside.”

To my surprise, Faralda laughed. She straightened and smiled at me. “Ah, a sense of humor! That is something we are often in short supply of here. Very well, I require a demonstration of your skills. If I deem it sufficient, you may pass through to the College.”  
I nodded. “What do I need to do?”  
“I would like you to conjure a Flame Atronach, on this College seal,” she pointed at the seal on the floor between us.

I nodded again, and took a deep breath. Conjuration wasn’t my strongest School, but I had managed Flame Atronachs on several occasions before this, so it shouldn’t be much of a challenge. _Focus on what you want to summon,_ I walked myself through the spell. _Flame Atronach, from the Oblivion Planes._ I charged the purple and black spell in my right hand, curling my fingers around the condensing energy. I felt my magicka flow into the spell, and the scorching heat followed by tingling coolness when I released the spell against the seal.

There was a crack, the dark purple and black growing, warping and solidifying into a Flame Atronach. She rose a little, turned to face me, and turned a loop through the air to stop in front of me. I grinned, heaving out a relieved sigh that I had succeeded. Faralda smiled back when I met her gaze. “Good. Follow me, and I’ll take you through to the College.”

She dispelled my Atronach – much to my disappointment – and walked up the stone ramp behind her to a stone basin filled with liquid magicka. She charged a white spell in her hands, and threw it at the air above the basin. A light rose from the magicka pool, and she walked up a longer, steeper ramp. “Watch your step from here on – much of Winterhold was destroyed by a storm several years ago, and the College suffered its own damages – particularly on the bridge now spanning a chasm.”  
I frowned, about to ask when I suddenly saw what she meant.

The bridge narrowed considerably, most of the stone tiles and walls broken off and washed away. A large portion of the bridge wasn’t walled, and what remained was uneven and jagged. “For the love of Mara…” I breathed.  
Faralda nodded solemnly and took the lead again, another light glowing above the magicka pool. “Yes. It is preferable to stay on one side of the bridge if you even suspect there might be wind while crossing – we _have_ unfortunately lost two students who thought they could cross the bridge despite the ocean wind. Also, when it has snowed a lot, wait for someone from the College to melt the snow – often it creates the illusion of a broader, safer path. Keep your eyes open, focus on where you are going, and neither stop nor run – the key is to find the right speed,” she cautioned, and immediately strode towards the College gates at the end. _Well, if you can survive a dragon, you can survive a bridge like this,_ I thought, and made the mistake of glancing over the edge of the wall I was close to. I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing violently to myself about the idiocy of crossing such a dangerous bridge while so high up, opened my eyes and strode after Faralda anyway.

I just reached the basin she stood at when I felt a sudden gust of wind rising from the ocean below. I gasped, my eyes widening on instinct. I hadn't expected it to be so powerful. Faralda half-chuckled. “Now you’ve managed to safely experience the strength of on ocean wind this high up – remember that when you want to risk crossing it.” She lit the final basin, and the College gates’ bolts opened and slammed into place.  
“Why hasn’t the College repaired the bridge yet?” I asked.  
“Funding – while we receive a steady income from much of Skyrim and beyond, the truth is that it simply isn't enough to fully repair the bridge. And so it has stayed this way. And using magic to maintain a more permanent barrier would be taxing – how would the spell be powered? Perhaps, one day a mage and adventurer will find some ancient magic we can apply to the bridge to make it safer to traverse. Welcome to the College, Delany. You will want to speak with Mirabelle Ervine immediately – she handles all the new students. As you can see, she’s standing in the courtyard with three others who had joined us late yesterday. I’m sure she’s giving them a brief tour of the College before sending them to their classes. You’re lucky to have made the last of the admissions this semester.”

And just like that, she went back to her post at the arch, and I walked through the College gates to join the small crowd. Everyone was dressed in the light blue and beige Novice Mage robes – except for Mirabelle, in the dark violet and blue Master Restoration robes. I felt out of place in my worn leather armor and fur-lined cloak.

“Ah, another prospective student! Welcome, and join us – I am Mirabelle Ervine, as I am sure Faralda has already mentioned, and these are Onmund –” a young Nord man waved awkwardly, “– J’zargo, –” the cream-colored Khajiit scoffed, as if he was sizing me up for potential competition, “– and Brelyna Maryon.”

 _A Dark Elf woman – I've certainly managed to pick an interesting group_ , I thought, nodding and smiling. The she-elf didn’t really acknowledge me – but I wasn’t here to make friends, I was here for the library. And, now that I was enrolled, taking classes wouldn’t hurt in the slightest. “I’m Delany, pleased to meet everyone.”

Mirabelle huffed, pleased that introductions had gone well. “The others have been here since last night, so they already know where the Hall of Attainment is, so we shall begin there for your sake, Delany. You will find clothes more suited to your studies here in your dorm room, as well. Now,” she said, walking to a tower on my left, “this is the Hall of Attainment, where all the Novice through Adept mages reside. Study hard and practice often, and pass your examinations and you will soon rise to great heights within the College. This Hall consists of four levels, six rooms per level, with at least one Expert mage residing within the tower at all times to keep order amongst our ranks. While you may come and go as you please, you are expected to be quiet and respectful of your fellows while within these Halls. Not everyone follows the same routines, so many may be awake through the night or at odd hours. Delany, this is your room,” Mirabelle showed me to the first room on the right, on the ground floor of the tower. This was a fast-moving tour of the College. I quickly dropped my pack on the bed, noting the Novice Mage robes neatly folded on a dresser. “Sizing shouldn’t be an issue – they are enchanted to change to fit the wearer regardless of height and weight, merely give it a few moments to adjust. Once it has adjusted, it will not revert if worn regularly or change unless given to another to wear. You can change your attire as soon as the tour is done.  
“Now,” she addressed all of us again. “Master Tolfdir is the current, most senior mage to reside within this Hall, and he can be found to the right of the stairs on this floor. Now, let’s move on to the Hall of Countenance, the Hall of Nourishment, the Hall of the Elements, the Arcaneum and the Midden.”

 _Wow,_ thought, shaking my head as I followed the group through the different parts of the College. _This is more of a quest than I expected it to be._

 

* * * * * * *

 

I fell onto my new bed some time after lunch. The ‘Hall of Nourishment’ was something of a joke among most mages here, and I could appreciate it to a certain degree. The Midden was a series of underground research cubicles, somewhat iced over since the Great Collapse, and anyone who wanted to conduct more delicate, private research could officially book out a room with Urag gro-Shub, the Orc scholar in charge of the Arcaneum, the great library here at the College I so desperately wanted to see.

Its size and the number of books within had far exceeded my imaginings – I couldn’t believe that even such a small section had such a large collection of books, tomes, scrolls, tablets…. I was sure, if one were to venture into the more disorganized, forgotten parts of the library, one might even be lucky enough to stumble across an Elder Scroll. An actual, legitimate Elder Scroll…. I laughed to myself, shaking my head and pulled the curtain over the archway to my room so I could change into my new robes. I had drifted from my original train of thought.

When Mirabelle had taken us down to the Midden, showing us the two main entrances from both sides, she made it very clear to us – almost to the point of assault – that we were _never_ to go beyond a very clearly marked point in the Midden, _ever_ , on pain of expulsion and memory alteration.

Naturally such a restriction gave me all the more reason to go down there and see what was so completely forbidden, but I would have to wait a while, and establish myself as an upstanding student before I would even begin to book research time in the Midden. I wondered briefly if Urag would allow the removal of books from the Arcaneum…. _I doubt it,_ I thought, tugging the newly-adjusted robes into place a little better. _If I want to take books down to the Midden I’ll have to steal them out of the library, and I’m quite sure the books I want will either be protected by all sorts of spells, or I will spend so much time looking for them, that by the time I have it, I will need to hand it over for proper restorative work and cataloging._

“I need to get in as a scribe,” I breathed, staring at myself in the mirror. I pulled my long black hair back, ran my fingers through it quickly and braided my hair all the way down. Classes started tomorrow, and I would need to sign up for everything I wanted today _and_ make sure nothing clashed.

As much as I distrusted Enthir, I really hoped he would be in the dining hall tonight. I needed to confirm he was here without asking questions – I suspected he appreciated discretion as much as I did, and I really didn’t want to raise the wrong sort of attention where he was concerned. I had a feeling he was far more dangerous and connected than he seemed to be.

Call it a thief’s intuition.


	7. We Thank You For Your Kindness

Enthir was indeed a resident mage at the College, and apparently he was the go-to elf for difficult-to-acquire goods and services, from what I gathered by watching him and listening in on all the wrong kinds of conversations over the next three weeks. Everything could be bought, found, sold or ‘lost’ to a certain degree, and for certain prices. Unfortunately I was already in his debt, and judging by the way some fellow students and mages treated him, he was one to fear regarding late payments and unfulfilled promises. And no-one ever mentioned dealing with him, ever. They only mentioned coming across some very rare and expensive (there was usually a lot of emphasis on ‘expensive’ where that Bosmer was involved) arcane tools, ingredients, tomes, and so forth.

Very well, then – two can play the game of providing for the more discreet needs of the mages here. I had the skills, I just needed the contacts.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae turned away from her Delany, on her way to the College to study and research and find out what this one could not do yet. There was a lead to the Dark Brotherhood, and this would-be-Khajiit-Nightstalker would not rest until she had found them. I picked the lock to the house, walking in and up the stairs, listening to a tired boy chanting something, and the dull thud of a knife against the wooden-floating-floor.

“Sweet mother… sweet mother… send you-ur child… unto me… for the –” the cub yawned loudly, “– sins of the unworthy must be… bap-tized… in… blood and fear….”

The cub must have been awake for a very, very long time. This Solän'cae followed his voice to a room with the Black Sacrament. There were the candles, the rib cage, the skull, the blood, the heart… the boy stabbing the effigy with his kitchen knife. Could there be anything more exciting than this?!

“The Dark Brotherhood has come, Aventus Aretino. What is it you require of this one?” I asked the cub, watching him drop his kitchen knife, fall onto his tail-less rear and back away from this Khajiiti before grinning brightly. How do these creature eat, with such round, flat, blunt teeth? It must be difficult and painful.  
“You’re the Dark Brotherhood! You’ve come, you’ve come! Thank _goodness_! I haven't slept since I started the Black Sacrament… with all the _things_.”  
“Yes…. This one can see that,” I purred, tail swishing happy-excited. “What is it you want done, cub?”  
“I want you to kill Grelod the Kind! My mother… she died, and I, I’m all alone. Then I was sent to that orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman – that’s Grelod. They call her Grelod the Kind, but she really isn't. She’s terrible, to all of us. So I ran away, came home. And did the Black Sacrament! And now you’re here! And you can kill her!” he shouted at the end, getting excited.  
It was an interesting proposition – if I stole this kill from the Dark Brotherhood, would they come looking for me, or would they try to kill me?

“Assassinations are not dust in the sand, cub,” I said. Of course, I was not so interested in the money as I was joining the Dark Brotherhood, but I wanted to know he would need to give to get.  
“Yeah, sure – uhm, I have a family heirloom you can have, when you're done. It’s supposed to be sorta valuable or something,” he finished, his face going red.  
_So it will not be worth much,_ this Solän'cae thought, nodding. “I will kill this woman for you, child.”

And then this Solän'cae left, a cheering-exhausted cub falling to the floor as this one shut the door.

What did it matter to this one if the cub died? He was not the one holding the Black Door open-or-closed – but he was showing me which way to go.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I booked a cart to Riften, apparently south of here, and home to all the thieves in Skyrim. Why was Delany not going there? It was her desire-dream-wish-goal to find the Skyrim Thieves Guild and join them – yet she was running in the opposite direction, where there would be great order-law-restriction, and she had such wandering hands and fingers, surely she would not keep them to herself and out of the pockets of others. But, each must make and find their own path. This one was on her way through the desert to the canyon, and soon I would be at the oasis that is the Dark Brotherhood.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Riften was in a warmer part of Skyrim, and a more autumn-colored part too. It was lightly wooded, and full of bees and honey and bears and elk. And thieves. This one even had to _pay_ fifteen septims to get inside the city gates! It was ridiculous! It made this one’s fur stand and her teeth bare. This entire city was _corrupt_ to the core! Assassins this one could deal with, and perhaps one or two thieves, but an _entire city_?!

No. This one would not stay here for long. This one would find out where the orphanage was, look around, meet the old woman, Grelod, and then this one would make a quick plan and kill her the next day. It would be quick, simple, messy.

Because of all the blood, of course.

I grinned – ah, this Khajiiti couldn’t wait to feel the life flee from her target, her prey…. A few strange looks made this one realize she was purring and grinning. There was a market ahead – the perfect place to find out what was going on in this slum. “This is pure Wisp Essence, ladies and gentlemen! The true elixir for prolonged youth! For great energy! If you catch my drift…!”

This one followed the laughter of a crowd to a small stall with pale-green-white-glowing potions, a red-haired man holding one high and trying to sell it to the people. He continued talking, and the women and older men all bought one – for ridiculous prices. This one stopped an excited customer waiting to buy a bottle. “This one would know – where is Honorhall Orphanage?”  
The woman glared at this Khajiiti. “Let go of me, _cat_ ,” she snapped, pulling her arm away as this Solän'cae let her go, snarling. There were many people here, but no hairless-cubs…. Except for one stealing meat from a man more interested in the Wisp Essence. This Solän'cae followed the child to a back alley, then grabbed his arm.

“Hey, l-let go!” he stuttered, trying to look fierce. Of course, he was tall and broad for a cub.  
“Tell me, where is this Honorhall Orphanage?” The boy looked confused. “Tell this one, and she will let you go with your stolen meat. Otherwise, this one will drag you back to the old tomcat – man – and the guards, too,” I hissed.  
“Fine!” the cub hissed back, fierce-afraid. “It’s over there. I need to get back there, anyway – that old Hagraven will notice I'm gone soon. I’ll walk you there, just… just don’t take me in through the front door.”  
“Good. Lead the way, cub. This one will keep her word.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

The orphanage was large – there were almost thirteen cubs inside, all dirty and afraid and angry and tired and unloved. Except for about four or five – the tomcat I found was one of them. There was a young woman working with the children: she was kind, but just as afraid as the children of the old woman – Grelod the Kind.

The old woman liked beating the cubs with a hard leather belt, locking them inside cupboards, not feeding them. Those who tried to escape had their feet burned by a hot poker.

The young woman knew a little of healing, so when Grelod wasn’t near, the young woman would heal the children as best she could. Grelod liked lecturing the children too – and insisted the slightest necessity she gave them was a great kindness, and all had to say ‘we thank you for your kindness, Mistress Grelod’ whenever the old hag was done. This one snarled silently, and slipped away. Too many potential witnesses to tell the others what this Solän'cae looks like – I shall need a cowl. Cubs are too honest, too easy to make tell the truth.

Though… these cubs might _not_ want to tell on me.

This one shall see – after the purchase of a cowl, and a bed for the night.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The red-haired man was still selling his Wisp Essence when this one bought her cowl – though, I must confess, it was more of a thin, fraying hood that could be wrapped around this one’s face than an actual cowl. This one couldn’t afford to buy something more expensive. The only way out was through the city gates, through the waterway – but this one really did not want to get wet – or to hide in the city sewers, where this one would surely get lost or be discovered eventually.

No. This one would have to strike hard and fast like lightning, and then disappear before the thunder can be heard. This one wandered down to the alchemist, buying some nightshade and deathbell and a few others to make poisons, and try to get a free lesson while the old-tomcat taught a woman called Ingun. Mostly to pass the time – but also to learn without using coin. I think the alchemist realized, though, and eventually asked this one to leave.

And so I did – it was almost time to kill, almost time to feel the crimson-red-life-water leave the body of Grelod, and this one couldn’t wait! Oh, how it would be to kill again…. Cleanly, quickly…. “What shall this one do to leave her mark?” I wondered, walking into the inn – a place called Bee and Barb, and paid for a room to leave my things in while this Solän'cae worked. There would be dinner first, and this one would need the sharp knife that would surely come with the meat. It was easier to hide than a sword, and faster to kill with when close to another. _I need to buy a dagger, but a good one – this one will not settle for anything less than glass,_ I decided, listening to the soon-full common room.

Empire and Stormcloak – a quick way to start a bar fight, steal the knife, run to the orphanage, kill my prey, my unsuspecting, pathetic and helpless-to-escape prey, and come back. No-one would know that Solän'cae left, no-one would know that she had killed, and ran back in time.

But every artist needs to sign her work, and that this Solän'cae would have to figure out on the way. There was no more time to think.

“– Ulfric is perfectly justified! If he isn't here to intervene on behalf of all the people, of all the Nords, who knows what the gods-damned _elves_ will do next! Will they tell us to worship _their_ gods, follow all of _their_ customs?!” a man shouted, slamming down a tankard and spilling drink.  
“Justified?! He’s fighting the enemy! He’s fighting the _Empire_ for the love of –”  
“And the _Empire_ rolled over to the demands of the elves!” a woman joined the argument.

Now, to push one fighter into the other, and make sure there was an earnest fight!

This one stood, carefully joining the argument and pushed into one who stumbled into another.

And then there were fists flying everywhere.

No-one saw this Khajiiti steal the knife, no-one saw this Khajiiti slip out the back door.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stood outside the orphanage, drawing my cowl over my head and walked around to the back, where the cub had shown this one was another entrance. The doors were all unlocked, as if Sithis and Mehrunez _wanted_ this one to succeed! Ah, this one could not keep from smiling! This one almost purred, but the sleeping cubs were what kept me serious. They could _not_ wake and hinder this one. Slowly, quietly, I crept in, looking for the light under a door, voices in the halls.

And this one found old Grelod’s room, the ‘hagraven’ – this one wonders what that is – hissing at a young woman she sent out angrily. This one shrunk back into the shadows – I was still undetected, unfound inside this place. The girl – woman, like this Solän'cae – was close to tears. She wouldn’t have seen this Khajiit unless I spoke.

“Insolent girl – I swear, she spoils these ungrateful urchins and makes sure they _never_ obey a single thing I tell them to do!” the old woman coughed, gagging.

This one peered inside the door. Grelod the Soon-Dead had her back to this Khajiit-assassin.

I purred, grinned, pulled out the knife.

I stepped in, one, two, three.

Tail high, one hand reaching around and grabbing the mouth-chin.

“What, who are – gah-ahh!”

The flesh was soft and old, giving under the knife like warm butter. The cartilage and tendons gave a bit of trouble, made the ear-to-ear a little jagged.

And then the blood sprayed, drowned, flowed over this one’s white-white fur. I hissed. “So messy, look what you did!”

But the blood on this one’s hand-paws….

The woman fell to the floor, and this one quickly made a paw-shape, pressed it to the wall.

And fled the orphanage for the inn. This one had to leave tonight, now – surely they would see the blood, and follow it to this one’s room!

The thrill, the not-chase-run…. Ah, this one could live on the feeling. So sharp, so real, alive! Everything was crisp and clear and beautiful! Hail Sithis and the Night Mother!

 

* * * * * * *

 

I returned to the inn in time to see the fight being broken up by guards, and a few members dragged away in chains. I hurried past and into my room, trying to wash out the worst of the blood. This one snarled – how _dare_ her prey make her dirty like this?! I grabbed my pack, and went out the second entrance. The guards let this one pass without looking twice, and I was close to running. I only needed a little more distance, a little further to go. I just needed to pass the city gates, get out of sight, then this one would run for joy, for freedom!

And North towards Windhelm, to tell Aventus Aretino, and collect this one’s reward.

 

* * * * * * *

 

A Khajiit trader-caravan was busy packing up the early morning when this Solän'cae headed into Windhelm. Thankfully, the guards remembered this one was with Delany, and let this one in without much fuss. I went straight to the house of this one’s client. I walked in, and found the boy sleeping on the floor, next to the rotting organs and dead flowers. “Cub, wake up,” this one ordered.

The boy jumped, waking up and standing almost immediately. And he sat down again just as fast. “You – she’s dead, right?” he asked.  
“Yes. The woman this one was sent to kill is dead.”

This one was not expectant of the grin, the cheer and the sudden crash of an ugly tail-less, furless cub in a tight embrace.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! You did it! Ha ha! This is the best day _ever_!” he laughed, letting me go and racing away to fetch this one’s pay.  
“Here! It’s a family heirloom – supposed to be worth quite a bit! Thank you, thank you so much Miss Assassin!”

This one could only stare.

And try not to gape.

The hairless cub wanted this Solän'cae to take a _plate_.

A tarnished, stained _plate_ as payment. This one took it, and left. There was a Dark Elf pawnshop nearby – this _thing_ wasn’t worth more than ten septims clean, but it would be a few more coins more than this one currently had.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Hold, Sister of the Sands!”

This one turned to look at a tabby-tomcat in steel armor. Unusual for our kind – we preferred lighter armor, movement over protection, like the Bosmeri cousins. This one wanted to be gone from this white-cold-rain city and go somewhere warmer, why was he stopping me? “Yes?”  
“If you would leave this city, this Kharjo would vouch for you to travel with us. It is safer to travel in a caravan-pride through Skyrim. The furless-ones are not fond of us, the air cold and the animals dangerous. We go to Whiterun – from there, one could go anywhere, you know. And it is warmer there. You will get food and a bed, if you come with us.”

This one stared at the tabby-tomcat. Light grey-tan fur, with a dark-brown-black patch over one eye. Young, like this one, but good with the weapon and armor. He was a caravan guard, one who protected against bandits and animals. This one found him… _pleasing_ … to look at. _It would be safer to travel in a pride…._ “Very well. This Solän'cae accepts your offer, Kharjo. This one will travel with you, and she is grateful for that.”

The tomcat grinned broadly, tail twitching as he laughed. “No, Solän'cae, _this one_ is grateful you accepted his offer! Come, come! I will take you to Ahkari. She is the one who leads this caravan, and she will want to meet you before you travel with us.”  
“This one will be glad to meet her.”

Ahkari is a dark, almost-black Khajiiti, matron of this caravan of jewels, weapons and alchemy supplies. This one is tasked with helping around the caravan, setting up and taking down the tents when needed. But mostly, helping with the wares and horses.

At least this one was going somewhere warmer. I would have to send a letter to Delany to tell her the good news, too.


	8. The Passage of Time, or Before the Storm

The road south-and-west to Whiterun was pleasant, and somewhat uneventful aside from one attempted-but-foiled bandit raid. This one and Kharjo were fighting side by side, killing the bandits quickly and easily. They were not trained like us, not capable and skilled and talented like us.

That Kharjo was… attractive certainly made the journey all the more pleasant. This one came to love his company, and the tomcat is intelligent, though he speaks much like one fresh from Elsweyr, not yet accustomed to the strange ways the Nords and Elves speak. The self-words and the not-self words… they are all different in the tongues of the hairless-ones. Not for those of Khajiit – for us, it is all the same, if one speaks of Solän'cae, she, or I. But we learn the ways of the tail-less ones to communicate better. It is perhaps another day until we reach Whiterun, and this one must first confess – this one is very much attracted to one Kharjo of Ahkari’s Caravan.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Ah, _finally_!” I sighed happily, smiling broadly. I had done everything I could to gain unsupervised access to the Arcaneum – and now, almost a month later, I could finally come and go within the library as I pleased, without at least a lecturer or more senior member or scribe accompanying me. There were certain limits to what one could research when it came to someone hovering over your shoulder the whole time. Sure, being friends with Marcurio had helped my cause greatly, but he wasn’t keen on spending the hours inside the Arcaneum I intended to spend, and there was a system of mutual favors between us – so I tried to keep him out of it as much as possible. He often asked almost impossible things, like acquiring locked books for ‘further reading’ without Urag noticing – which meant I played make-shift forger-scribe most of the time in the Arcaneum. But it had earned me the right to enter as I pleased, provided I checked in and out with Urag first.

My odd friendship with Marcurio had earned many disapproving glares from other students, both from my level right through to Marcurio’s and above. The Master mages and lecturers seemed to approve, though – and thanks to Marcurio's extensive knowledge on almost everything, most of my classes were easy after a few supplementary lessons in the Midden with the Imperial.

And naturally, Enthir was never too far from the egomaniac-Imperial, much to the distaste of my fellow Novice mages, but especially Onmund. The Nord had grown to hate Enthir more and more as it became obvious I was spending time with him not just for the difficult-to-acquire items he had. Most of which was some kind of contraband: I couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine how he kept his operation a secret, but Arch-Mage Aren seemed entirely oblivious to the fear some students exuded when that Wood Elf’s name was thrown around.

Being so close to Enthir also put me in a more direct position to repay his debt – and once we came clean and confessed a particular specialization in acquiring and moving _sensitive_ goods, I became his go-to for things needed within the College walls. No-one ever suspected me, and it gave me access to whatever books Enthir had managed to acquire that were more along the lines of my research.  
But I was losing interest in the Septim Dynasty. There were too few books on them, too few mentions of what had happened during the Oblivion Crisis where Martin was involved. The only ones mentioned somewhat more extensively was a Battlemage by the name of Alyna, Arch-Mage of the Arcane University and Grandmaster of the Fighter’s Guild, unconfirmed lover or consort of Martin Septim, and Al’Kardho, the Hero of Kvatch, Bruma, and Champion of Cyrodiil.

I was fairly convinced that the three knew each other well, and that Alyna was the matron of the Septim Dynasty after Martin’s death. But I could find nothing on her outside of her academic and battle achievements. Al'Kardho was no more than a glorified ghost – the tome I had found and kept told me more about the almost-forgotten Champion than other mentions of him. What the Arcaneum had about his life was clinical, providing pure facts instead of strongly emotional and praising – or even demeaning – works. Eventually even Enthir told me he couldn’t track down anything more on either Alyna, Al’Kardho or the Septims, and that I should let it go for now.

I had reluctantly agreed at the time, but putting that search to one side had certainly improved my mood – and my grades.

And my coinpurse – working _with_ Enthir had its benefits. When he had originally tried to coerce me into working _for_ him, I had made sure his plans had failed as carefully as I could; _and_ I had managed to earn a few of my own patrons looking to acquire from fellow students. I had earned his grudging respect, and a kind of agreement came up between us.

But I lacked the will to keep searching for something that didn’t seem to exist, and not even Enthir or his contacts could find anything more for me. Marcurio only knew so much about history, but I outsourced him where the Septims were involved.

Neither knew about the tome I possessed. Yet.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Marcurio flashed his new Adept robes at almost anyone who had the misfortune of glancing in his direction the second he got them, and it made me want to choke him with it. How I held off on it, is something only the Divines will know. I was promoted to Apprentice shortly after him, so I could throw his arrogance right back at him with equal fervor.

It never failed to foul his mood for the rest of the day, a rather pleasing consequence, despite his incessant whining and grumbling afterwards. Onmund and Brelyna distanced themselves from me even more, while J’zargo merely saw my promotion as a reason to step up his performance, nearly set himself on fire because of a miscalculated spell he was designing to ‘top my achievements’, and finally make it to Apprentice as well.

I was becoming rather proficient at making poisons of all sorts, and rather potent healing potions, but anything else was nothing short of an explosion of glass, boiling or freezing liquids and detention cleaning the class or scribing for Urag.

Word was spreading that Faralda was busy with some special, top-secret research concerning Destruction magic, and several mages had made remarks about wanting to read what she had discovered so far. Enthir was playing several buyers, pushing them out and leading them on to see who was really interested in the research.

I just _knew_ I’d be the one to steal it, forge it, and have to return the notes to Faralda. The bad feeling hounding me about it made me uneasy, and I suspected it might cost me more than I wanted to give up.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This one arrived with her new caravan in Whiterun. It seems to her that now, this Kharjo is just as fond of me as I of him. But he is an innocent – he is not one born to kill like this Solän'cae is. He will kill when necessary, not because he enjoys the feel of life flowing-running out of another. Perhaps it is a good thing that Solän'cae likes one who is not like her: it will make sure that I do not lose control and kill all and any with the one this one calls her mate one day.

 _Already this one thinks of a mate, one I shall be tied with forever…. It is a strange thought, and one I am sure Delany would tease this one over_ , I smiled. A letter would go to Delany in the College – this one had already written it, telling of this one’s contract and the wait for another – perhaps, even a Sanctuary leader or one directly below would come to me, and ask me to join! This one purred happily, enjoying the warm sun in Whiterun. This one also spoke some of Kharjo, and asked about the College and her research there; was she succeeding?

There was another caravan here, one lead by a dark-brown-orange tomcat called Risaad. They are two of three Khajiit caravans, aligned together and sometimes meeting to swap news and sell goods. Risaad’s caravan sold weapons, armor and some extra bits – lockpicks and spell tomes. Together we were a pride of thirty Khajiit, with most coming from Risaad’s pride of seventeen. The largest Khajiit caravan in Skyrim. The last caravan, this one cannot remember the name of the leader, is also thirteen. But this one will not stay with the caravan for long, so they will be twelve again.

We camped together, selling wares and sharing news from the other provinces. Risaad knew not of the dragons, but heard that the Legion is fighting hard in the west, against not only the Stormcloaks but the raiding Forsworn as well. This one wondered, who are these Forsworn?

But a letter had to be delivered, and then this one heard that someone in Morthal wanted some stableboy in Whiterun dead on her way to the courier-building. I grinned: I would make sure that this stableboy lived no longer. But the guards at the gate mistook my dark grin for a friendly one, remembering me from before.

 _Black Horse Courier is expensive, but they make sure that the letter is delivered,_ this one thought, walking down the path, left up the stairs to the Great Gildergreen. It looked sad, but this one might have imagined it. The Black Horse Courier was in the Cloud District of Whiterun, and easy to find with the big sign of a rearing black horse.

I paid for the delivery of the letter, instructing the couriers to give it to a Breton girl called _De_ -lany, not _Me-_ lany. _I hope they manage to get it to her,_ this one scowled, buying some alchemy supplies from the Imperial woman who kept telling this Solän'cae that she was sick. I am not _sick_!

“Bah, this one will not buy here again,” I muttered, growling quietly, tail twitching quickly, irritated. I also bought new clothes – blue robes for travel. Kharjo had helped make this one a set of leather armor, so that this one had. Comfortable, but plain, leather armor. Sometimes, this one could _swear_ on Jode and Jone – the precious twin moons – that it smelled like Kharjo.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We stayed outside of Whiterun for a week, Risaad and his caravan-pride only stayed for another day. The night before we left for Morthal, I had killed the stableboy. No-one would notice the stableboy was gone until long after we had left Whiterun, when his body would start to smell.

But today… the thirtieth of Frostfall, two days after we left, Kharjo’s Moon Amulet had been stolen in a bandit raid that was – this one must angry-humiliated-admit – successful. And Kharjo and I set out to return the goods, and his Amulet, as soon as everyone was alright. There were only a few shallow-long cuts, and many bleeding-under-skin-that-heals, _bruises_ , yes.

We will not fail. We will return alive, with our weapons and jewels, and we will have the Moon Amulet.

We will _not_ fail!

 

* * * * * * *

 

We tracked the bandits to Silent Moons Camp, a small Nordic barrow. The rest of the caravan was traveling north, ahead through Labyrinthian and to Morthal.

The camp was small, but the bandits many. Kharjo could use a bow, I had magic. So I gave him my bow. He would shoot with a weapon, I would shoot with magic. _This one knows more Conjuration spells, summon basic weapons, conjure familiars, soul trap, flame atronach. Destruction spells this one knows the basics, plus the runes. Restoration…. Well, this one can heal herself and another, enough to not die._

I charged the Flaming Familiar spell in my left, the lightning rune in my right. “This one will go forwards, and place this rune on the floor. You will draw the bandits, I will come back. They will run over the rune, and I will send out a fire-familiar to them. And so we go in, and collect our wares, your necklace, Kharjo,” this one whispered, whiskers twitching in the breeze.  
Kharjo rubbed his head against mine. “Thank you, Solän'cae. Go, Kharjo will cover you. Go!”

And this one ran – the bandits would see me soon. I snarled, running and ducking as the first lot of bandits fired their bows, Kharjo growling behind and shooting back. They were coming from the front now! This one charged the lightning rune, feeling her arm go asleep-not-sleeping, the crackle-snap of lightning and then it was out, on the floor! By this one’s feet! The not-sleeping-arm-feeling gone!

I snarled, hissing and roaring at the bandits – they needed to come closer, closer! And they were!

I backed up, goading and snarling and distracting from my rune with some fire magic. _Closer, closer… I need to get away from them before it explodes!_

This one turned tail, running. The cheers and thudding and pounding let this one know they were coming, coming!

“ _Shit!_ Magic! _GET BACK_!”

 _Too late,_ this one grinned, turning back to see the rune explode, bandits flying and seizing and writhing and burning from the lightning. I cast the Flaming Familiar, sending it to the bandits near the rune. At least _they_ would be dead. The wolf came to life, howling as he charged the bandits. They screamed and shrieked, the second the wolf came to them he exploded, pushing me off balance.

I fell, feeling something turn wrong in my ankle before I hit the ground.

Then a bandit cheered, running towards this fallen Khajiit. I had no time, no time!

And he raised his stolen steel battleaxe, grinning darkly. And the grin faded, Solän'cae’s-now-Kharjo’s glass arrow in his throat, choking, gurgling, un-breathing! This one snarled, quickly healing her ankle as Kharjo came, helping me stand. “Alright?” he asked quickly.  
“Yes,” I nodded, testing my foot and drawing my sword. “Let’s finish this!”

Kharjo growl-roared, switching my bow for his mace. There weren’t many bandits left to kill – and they had horses we could take!

 

* * * * * * *

 

Later that night, on the road to Morthal, all our wares and Kharjo’s Moon Amulet around his neck – a beautiful thing, opalescent and white and red-streaks – we were headed back to the caravan. It wouldn’t take us long, and we had gained horses to ride or pull caravans or sell. It was a beautiful night, Jone and Jode bright and full in the sky, with the Skyrim-ribbon-lights in the cold air. I lay close to Kharjo, both of us staring up at the stars, so many and so far away.

This night was so peaceful – so perfect in time. This is one that would never end, of that this Solän'cae is sure. “The sky, it is so beautiful tonight,” Kharjo whispered. I purred, moving to put my head on his chest. His chest rumbled with a happy purr, too, and he held me close.

“The Dark Brotherhood has come.”

We jumped up, but we were not prepared. Three assassins came, tearing me from Kharjo. We fought, scratched-kicked-bit – I was almost free to grab my sword, Kharjo almost ready to swing his mace! But one hit him from behind, and Kharjo fell, unconscious, hopefully.

I howled, screaming with fury. But then a dagger cut between my shoulders, and I fell, my world blackening.

_Why? I came looking to join your ranks…. Did I… not… prove…_

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Divines, you’re an arrogant _bastard_!” I laughed, shoving Marcurio as we left the Hall of Elements after dinner. Typical, though, of one as short as I am, _I_ was the one who staggered to a side, trying – and failing miserably – to cast a dark glare at Marcurio’s chortles.  
“Really? _I’m_ not the one shoving people at night, in the snow,” he huffed, grinning.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he had already grabbed me, ready to toss me into the soft, freshly fallen snow. “ _NO_!” I shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free. _When did he get so strong?_ I wondered briefly, seizing my chance to break free when Marcurio stumbled in the snow. “Ha!” I pointed, prancing backwards. “Looks like Imperials and snow don’t mix too well!” I laughed, watching him brush the snow off his robes.  
“You should be lucky there’s a lot of snow right now, otherwise you’d never have escaped,” he smirked, stalking closer.  
“Oh?” I raised a brow. “Challenge accepted, then!”

He feigned to his left as I leapt forwards, the snow thick and difficult to run in.

And suddenly arms snaked around my waist, pushing me against a freezing stone pillar.

As cold as the nights in Winterhold are, it was suddenly warm with the Imperial Apprentice hovering over me, both of us panting and laughing. _He’s really close…_. The air seemed charged, heavy with anticipation of… _something_ , as we stared at each other.

But the moment lingered too long, and passed.

Marcurio pushed away from the pillar. “We should go – Enthir said he had something important he wanted to talk to us about.”  
“Yeah,” I said, turning and walking towards the Hall of Countenance. “You’re just afraid you’ll catch a cold, _Imperial_!” I stuck my tongue out at him over my shoulder.  
“Oh, yes, _terrified_ ,” he drawled sarcastically.

We climbed the stairs to the second floor in silence, walking into Enthir’s room without bothering to knock. The elf was reading a book in one of his chairs, and I settled on the dresser. Marcurio leaned against the archway, looking bored.

Enthir shot us both an accusingly amused look, nodding to himself and grinning as if he knew something we didn’t. I sniffed, looking straight at the Bosmer, refusing to give in and blush. “So, what’s this important thing we need to discuss?”  
“No-one followed you?” he asked quietly, putting his book down on his bedside table.  
Marcurio shook his head. “Not that I saw.”  
“Good. Well, I’m going to need both of you on this next bit of business, and Delany… it’s time you paid back that favor you owe me.”  
I nodded slowly. “Ok…. What am I doing?”

Enthir smirked, pleased I had agreed.

“You’re going to acquire Faralda’s new research notes.”


	9. The Forgotten Hero

The three of us spent most of the night talking through plans and possible scenarios concerning Faralda’s notes, both good and bad – perhaps _especially_ focusing on the bad. The job was fairly simple in theory, especially since Enthir had already managed to confirm that Faralda didn’t keep her research notes in her room, on her person, or in her class in the Hall of Elements. That meant she _had_ to keep them in the Midden, where she was working.

So, all I needed to do, was find out _where_ in the Midden Faralda was doing her research, get in and out with her notes undetected, give them to Enthir and work with him and Marcurio on copying the research so I could return it again the following day, with the Master Destruction mage none the wiser about this.

Simplicity exemplified, in theory.

In practice…. Somewhat more challenging. Alteration wasn’t a School I was skilled in, so I wouldn’t be able to lock the door behind me once I left with Faralda’s notes. That meant I needed a key – and keys were only available from the Masters, and all keys were individually made to the doors. Stealing Faralda’s key to make a copy had the chance to alert her to the possibility of research-theft, so that wasn’t even an option to consider.

Also, timing was of the essence. Her routine was irregular at best since she started her research, and we all knew it was an effort to dissuade would-be information-gatherers. That meant I had to be ready at a moment’s notice to not only _steal_ her notes, but I needed to leave her research room _before_ she returned and without a lookout. A lookout helping me would also alert Faralda in the Midden, where sounds travelled somewhat further than anticipated in some passages. I’d need a research room down there, and preferably one close enough to Faralda for easy access, and one far enough that I didn’t become the immediate suspect.

But there are some things we never even thought to consider, for all sorts of reasons. After all, we had never been caught before, and everyone was far too afraid of what Enthir did to people who backed out of their end of the bargain to ever go to the Arch-Mage about him.

Currently, I was merely soon-to-be victim of the Wood Elf in the eyes of the other students. It was only a matter of time.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _“Oh, come on – is that really necessary?” Alyna laughed, shaking her head and holding her hand in front of her face, as if it would stop him from what he was doing.  
“Yes, it is! Come, you never see each other, and this one would give his brother and charge something to remember you by! Why not this, why not now, mm?” a pitch-black Khajiit asked, leaning backwards in his chair across the Guildmaster’s desk at the Chorrol Fighter’s Guild chapter. “You are busy organizing not one, but _ two _Guilds to work together and help end this Crisis – let this one take something of you back to Martin. It pains all at Cloud Ruler Temple to see him so serious and furiously-concentrated on the research he does. And this one is always busy finding what Martin tells him to find, and going into the Gates to close them, so I cannot stay to make him smile-relax-happy.”_

 _Alyna sighed, smiling gently, laugh-lines faintly visible on her young Imperial face. The Khajiit didn’t miss the way one hand absently drifted to her stomach. Her green eyes shone when she turned back to the Khajiit. “Oh, alright, alright. But, do you_ have _to draw me like this, Al’Kardho? Is it really necessary to draw all the hundreds of thousands of little chainlinks of this mithril armor?”  
“Yes. That is how you are, always in armor, always ready for good and bad. This Al’Kardho will draw you as such for Martin. You have no further say!” he raised a hand, pointing his finger at the Imperial woman, grinning when she nodded, mock-defeated. “Good, now smile again – this one is unfamiliar with the shape of Mannish mouths. They are small and have blunt, wide teeth. It is a very strange thing indeed….”_

_Al'Kardho grinned, immediately drawing in Alyna’s smile as she laughed. He’d put the sketches he’d made of her these past two days together to make something to cheer up Martin’s dour moods from studying the Mysterium Xarxes, Mankar Camoran’s holy – unholy? – book, as written by Mehrunes Dagon. Al’Kardho had managed to steal it from the Shrine north of Cheydinhal with some difficulty not too long ago. Now, he was only waiting on word from the Blades to return to Cloud Ruler Temple, and find out where he was going next and what he needed to bring back. And on his way out from the retrieval mission, he would bring a portrait of Martin back for Alyna. They were like family to Al’Kardho, and he would do what he could for them: he knew they’d do the same for him._

_The two Imperials and Khajiit had become especially close these past five months, working together to alleviate the effects of the Oblivion Crisis – officially, Alyna was working within the Fighter’s and Mages’ Guilds, helping the members prepare for battle; Al’Kardho was gathering assistance from the Cyrodiilic Counties, making pleas to the Elder Council for Imperial support, and unofficially, through spies and underground networks the Blades maintained, and Martin’s research, and the information they gathered sent Al’Kardho all around the province – while trying to find out how they could stop it. Just getting the Amulet of Kings back wouldn’t be enough – so long as Mankar Camoran and the Mythic Dawn cult were alive, there would always be the threat of a second invasion like this one._

A soft rap on this one’s wooden door brought Al’Kardho back to the present, two hundred years later. A whole _era_ later. But I did not put down this old picture of Alyna, nor turn to see who had come. This one already knows it is a fledgling, a servant to carry a message and to irritate him.

“Is that a picture of your lover?” the smooth voice of some young High Elf vampire girl.

Teasing, coy – I do not even bother to turn to her. This one merely acknowledges her by turning his head slightly, scowling. _I have made it clear to these younglings that they leave me in peace when I am here, in my chambers._

“No,” I replied, looking back at the ghost from my past. “She is the wife of a brother.” This Al'Kardho puts the drawing down.  
The she-elf huffs, surprised and curious, this one hears. She wants to step deeper into the room, but remembers her place and instead stands up straight, and stops leaning against this one’s doorway. “A _brother_ of yours?” she asked, incredulous-intrigued. “A _Khajiit_ married an _Imperial_?” she took a step into the room, then took that step back to where she was.  
Al’Kardho turned to glare at her, teeth bared. “No. You and I, we are brother and sister, yes? Such is this brother I speak of to me.”

The High Elf looks wary, but shrugs as if to make her fear leave her. She cannot hide the scent of fear from one older, stronger, wilder. “Hm. Well, Lord Harkon wants to see you immediately. He didn’t specify, but it sounded important,” she said, staring at her nails.  
“Of _course_ it is important!” I hissed. “If it is immediate, it is important, _girl_! Whether he specify or no! Do not make such stupid observations!”

Her eyes went as red as this one’s, and she gasped. I growled, a deep growl from deep-inside-soul-chest, a vampire-growl, not a Khajiit-growl. She turned and fled, no doubt to complain to another fledgling about this one. I turned back to the picture, carefully placing it inside a worn leather binder, ignoring the torn and singed portrait of Martin Septim now-below Alyna’s portrait.

If Harkon wanted to see this Al'Kardho, then it was to negotiate with a vampire who had the potential to join the Volkihar clan. And if they refused, it would be this Khajiit’s duty to destroy that vampire. Or it was simply the latter.

There was no neutral ground in this one’s old-new home – either you are friend, or you are foe. And if you have the misfortune to be foe…. Then this one hopes a swift death awaits at the hands of another.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Ah, Al’Kardho! Good, you’re on time. I have work for you do to,” Harkon beckoned this Khajiit forwards to his throne in the Volkihar Keep. It is true, this one is young among most in this clan, but this one has strength equal to that of the elders, with a greater will to achieve a goal. That this one is also more aware of the modern era helps to blend in with the mortals better. And so, this Al’Kardho is often sent to deal with vampire living inside the cities or near people.

“Lord, what is it you require of me?” this one hates, most of all, to refer to one so lacking in nobility and strength and honor as his ‘lord’. But, he had given this Khajiit a home and a pride when none was to be had. This one is grateful for that, but has come to see that there is more to this clan than meets the eye. Too paranoid for this one’s taste, too much influence from the Skooma-Cat, Mehrunez and the one they call Molag Bal.  
“There is an old acquaintance of the Volkihar clan I believe is living in Morthal. In the previous era, he managed to track and kill one of our own while he was human, but since then I have heard he has become a half-breed. He has become increasingly more active over the past few years, and I want you to track him down. He could be useful to us in the future, so _convince_ him to join our clan, or prove that it is futile to resist. His name is Movarth. Go.” Harkon waved a hand, dismissing me.  
“Yes, Lord Harkon,” this one half-bowed, backing up two steps then turning to leave. Morthal was not far from here, and this one would need to find Movarth. If he has been noticed by Harkon, it means there will not be much time before the mortals discover him.

There are two ways this one can convince this Movarth to join: try to negotiate favorable terms _before_ the mortals gather to kill him, or offer sanctuary and strength when the mortals have destroyed his nest and fledglings. If neither options work, then I have no choice: Movarth will die.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Khajiit will need to plan the trip carefully, travelling by night and feeding regularly to maintain appearances. Unlike the ‘half-breeds’ as Harkon likes to call them, those like him and me and many, many others at the Court are pure-blooded vampires, ones who are Vampire Lords, do not weaken in power after feeding to maintain appearances. No, our power remains stable, powerful, dangerous. Even if we do not call on our true forms.

 _Perhaps I shall take cattle with me, call them attendants? No – why would one of Elsweyr have fur-less attendants, and why would they be in the dead-marsh-city of Morthal?_ this one reasoned. _Bah, this one will go alone, and live on the outskirts of town. Surely there will be many places to hide during the day._ Even if there are not, this one could last in the burning-light of the sun. It hurts, yes of course, but with this black armor and this hood, this one will be able to make it for a few days.

Perhaps there will even be rain in Morthal, yes? Then there will be little need to hide from the sun that much. For that, this Al’Kardho hopes.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It is true – Al’Kardho sometimes misses the warmth of the sun, the friendly-warmth, not the painful-burn-heat he knows from his two-hundred years as a vampire. He misses the people who lived and grew old and died…. But they are dead, and the past cannot be changed. It is as it is.

And this one is proud of who he is and how far he has come with his curse-shame-gift-blessing of vampirism. He is only sorry he found the Volkihar before the Great War, so this Al'Kardho could not do as much as he wanted to do about the invasion. _But the moons are beautiful tonight, and that is something this one must enjoy._

So I did. This Al'Kardho dropped his back by the side of the road, sitting down in the cold snow and looked up at the sky. Morthal wouldn’t grow legs and walk – Movarth wasn’t going to leave there, either. Not yet, anyway. This one has time to admire the moons, the only ones who now care for this Khajiiti vampire in his cool, glittering eternal night.

The land is quiet but for the distant cries of people, somewhere far from here.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Headaches and dizziness do _not_ accompany this Solän'cae after a night in the wilds with an attractive tomcat – we hadn't had any elven or mannish drinks, nor Skooma nor moon sugar….

And then this Solän'cae remembered: the Dark Brotherhood had found her. They had said, they had come.

I sat up straight, too quickly, too quickly! I hissed, clutching my head. Solän'cae and the world were spinning in different directions, too quickly to think. What of Kharjo?! Had he escaped, survived?! They had attacked us, and this one’s world went dark before she could explain what she wanted…. A dark chuckle came from somewhere. “So, you’re finally awake, hm? Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think I’d killed you by accident.”

I turned to glare at a woman in dark red and black leather armor, a black-and-red cowl around her face. She sat on the very top of a bookshelf in a small shack. This Solän'cae guessed she was Nord, but her build. Very tall, very strong for a woman. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, _Solän'cae_?” she drawled, mocking-teasing.  
“That depends entirely on who you are, and what you plan to do to me,” I snarled back. _At least this one still has her sword and bow-and-quiver; I can kill her if I must, though, this one would rather join the Dark Brotherhood._

The woman laughed again. “I think I already like you, so you’d better choose wisely. You took something from us, _stole_ a kill meant for the Dark Brotherhood. I’m here to collect my payment.”

 _Grelod, Aretino – ha! That one is crazier than the Skooma-Cat if she thinks I will give up what I got. Unless her fee is for me to join their ranks…._ I growled. “I owe nothing! I did what you did not, and this Khajiit seeks her payment from _you_ for her actions!”  
Solän'cae could see the woman grow furious-impatient at this one. _Perhaps I took it too far?_ “Is that so, _Khajiit_? Do you really think you can _demand_ from the Dark Brotherhood?”  
“Yes. This one demands membership! Grant me a place within the Dark Brotherhood for the kill-that-is-not-yours-nor-mine. That is _owed_ to this Solän'cae for what she has done for you!”

The woman stared, her angry-eyes going slowly wide, then – this one guesses – she smiled, and laughed. Joyous, gleeful. “Ha ha! Very well, Solän'cae! I shall grant you a place in our Family – but there is _one_ thing I need you to do, to prove your worth and loyalty to me, to the Dark Brotherhood.”  
“This one is listening.”

“There are three people behind you. I want you to find out which one has the contract, and kill that person.”


	10. With Friends like These, Anything is Possible

“There are three people behind you. I want you to find out which one has the contract, and kill that person.”

This one turned around on the floor to look behind her. There were three people, all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, feet probably bound as well, with bags over their heads.

There was a woman, shoulders shaking as she cried silently, perhaps murmuring a prayer and maybe begging that she could live. The second was a man, perhaps a soldier or a mercenary judging by the steel armor and strong body. The last was a Khajiit, the most relaxed and at ease of all those here.

At least, that is what this one thought. Perhaps it is not true.

 _I must remember not to get too bloody – this one almost had to scrub her fur out last time to clean out all the blood out last time._ I stood up, taking up my sword. “Don’t you have a dagger? Would you like mine?” the assassin-woman purred, holding out a sheathed black dagger. I turned to glare at her, drawing my sword. “This one has never really needed a dagger – claws and magic and her sword and bow have always served when necessary.”  
“Suit yourself, then,” she shrugged, tying the dagger to her thigh again.

“Please, let me go! I know, I’m a mercenary, I’ve made enemies I don’t even know about, but it’s my job! Please, let me go…” the man! How strange – this one would have thought the woman would beg.  
But no – she was the one fighting, demanding to be released! “You listen to me, you snot-nosed _brat_! You let me go this very instant! You’ll be sorry if you don’t!”

I laughed – I couldn’t help myself. “Really? This Khajiiti will be _sorry_ if she doesn’t let you go? Ha! I think not,” I purred, raising my sword, ignoring her threats and the mercenary’s pleas to be released. “Let’s see if I will be sorry if you die.”

I stalked behind them, turning the sword in my hands, holding it with both hand-paws to drive it home better, blade-to-ground, hilt-to-sky. I let it hover about the woman’s neck, then pushed down, down, down! Into her neck, through her heart, organs, flesh and bone! There was blood, and this one snarled when some sprayed onto her, the woman moaning-screaming.

“What happened?! Oh, Divines, please! Let me go! I beg of you!” the mercenary cried. Not just the shout-cry, but the water-from-eyes-cry. The Khajiit….

Well, that Khajiit was calm, turning his head, trying to listen to what was happening, ears twitching under the bag. “Did someone die? This Khajiit would know – is this one next? Heh heh, it is true, I have more enemies than most, and this one accepts his fate, heh heh,” he laughed, calm-and-nervous.

 _Ah, next one, next one!_ I thought, grinning, tail high and twitching. I would kill the sniveling mercenary next, just because he was crying. “Face your death with some bravado-courage, Mercenary. You fight and kill all your life, and now you cry when someone tells you death is here? Bah, weak!” I snarled, wrenching my sword free from the woman and cutting his head off. And he was silent, suddenly. There was the stink of urine when he died. _Perhaps this one is not a very good mercenary, and that is why he cries._

“Farewell, Brother of the Sands,” this one says, then impales the Khajiit on her sword. I kick him off, swinging the glass sword to throw off some of the blood, then reach of a bag and wipe the green blade. I turn to glare at the assassin-woman. “Is this enough repayment for you, Dark Brotherhood Assassin?”

“Hmph, aren't we the over-achiever? Fine – your debt has been repaid. The choice is now yours: accompany me to the Sanctuary now, or take your time to think about heading to the Black Door west of Falkreath. If you choose this second path, the Black Door will ask you a question, to which you must answer, ‘silence, my brother’.”  
“This one will go with you, but first, this one must know what happened to her companion when you took me?”  
“Oh, the male Khajiit in the steel?”  
“Yes.”  
“He’s alive – we only knocked him out. He’ll probably have returned to his caravan,” she sniggered, sliding down from the bookshelf. “I’ll see you in Falkreath, then.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae made it to Morthal over the next four or so days – it is possible that this one got lost – only to find that Kharjo and his caravan had left, lamenting a fallen-member-who-is-not-fallen. No-one knew where to they were headed either, so this one would have to find him when I found him. Chasing after a Khajiit caravan wasn’t something an intelligent cat did, and Skyrim is big, full of mountains and danger. And at least one dragon.

No. The danger to this one travelling the wilds is too great. If it was meant to be, we shall see each other again soon.

So I stayed in this miserable marsh village of Morthal, after there was a murder of sorts. A man was accused of burning his wife and child inside their house to be with his mistress, but so far, there was no evidence to prove this was the case. People said it was true, though, because he moved in with his mistress immediately, and seemed to forget his burned-alive wife and child. They were very barely buried, after all.

How cruel – even this one could not be so cold, and there are many things this one is capable of, that I am sure of. I would offer my help to the Jarl tomorrow, and see if I would be allowed to investigate. After all, it was interesting, and I was curious. Let us hope that curiosity does not kill _this_ cat – she is too young to die. I laughed, booking a room at the inn, and wishing I had not.

The orc bard – what kind of orc becomes a _bard_ , anyway? Is it not something that is an illegal not-law? – was awful, screeching and false and very proud of his lack of skill. He sounded like he thought he was the greatest bard in all of Nirn. “Sorry ‘bout the orc – the townsfolk are used to ‘im by now, but the visitors usually get the worst of ‘is ‘performances’. How’s food on the house for ye stay?”  
At least the innkeeper-woman tried to make it easier. And this one would _never_ turn down an opportunity to keep her coin. “Thank you. I’ll be staying for at least two days – this one can tell you more specifically tomorrow.”  
“Sure thing. Room’s this way,” she called over another girl, and told her to show me to my room. I followed, and put my small knapsack of food on the bed. At least the assassin-woman had left that outside for this one, so there was no need to hunt for food. But sleeping on the cold, hard ground of Skyrim was extremely unpleasant. _I should have taken a bedroll from the shack I was in,_ I scowled, paying for a bath and putting my sword, bow and quiver on the bed, then went back to the main room after locking my door.

I needed to be most perfectly presentable to the Jarl in the morning – best to have perfectly falling-cold-white-rain-of-Skyrim fur, then.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was surprisingly easy to request an audience with Jarl Igdrod in Morthal – perhaps it is because the Hold Capital is so small, or perhaps it is because the Nord woman is also a seer. But she is old, and unwilling to do much for her people, if the arguments and questions about her leadership is anything to go by. They were even grateful that an outsider, a Khajiit was looking into the fire.

Perhaps they were especially grateful someone else was doing it, because some believed the fire was started by magic. And so, this one believes, all Nords are idiots who fear magic. Perhaps it is because of the Altmer and the Thalmor, too. Bah, this Solän'cae cares not.

“So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome, Khajiit,” the old Jarl-seer beckoned me closer with a smile. Perhaps not all Nords are so bad….  
“Thank you, Jarl Igdrod. I am curious about the house that burned down. Some in Morthal say that it was not fairly burnt.”  
“Hroggar’s house? Yes, he lost his wife and young daughter in the blaze. You speak some truth – the townsfolk believe it is cursed. And who am I to gainsay them?”  
“That is the house, yes. This one wonders, what does the man say happened? Perhaps this one could look into the matter for you, Jarl Igdrod?”  
The woman leaned back in her throne, staring carefully at me. “Hmm…. Yes, you are the one to find the truth. Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many think he set the fire himself.”  
“Because he moved in with his mistress almost the same day as the fire? But, what of his wife and cub – did he not care for them?”  
“Lust can make a man do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm, yes, when he pledged himself to Alva. The woman you call his mistress.”

It was enough to make this one furious – one’s cub is one’s cub! One cares for it, whether you love your mate or not! One mourns for the loss of one who is loved! “Why has this man not been arrested yet?” I growl quietly, tail anxious and tense and twitching angrily.  
“On town gossip and rumor? I cannot do that. But you, Khajiit, are a stranger to this town. You can find the truth, so sift through the ashes others are afraid to touch, and see what they tell you. Whether you return to prove Hroggar innocent or guilty, I shall reward you. I would like to know about any details you think are important, directly from you.”  
“This one shall investigate the fire, Jarl Igdrod,” I bowed, dismissing myself.

Well, this miserable marsh-village-capital just became far more interesting, after all! It was overcast outside today, and perhaps it would rain soon, or later, so this one had to move quickly. This ‘Hroggar’s’ house was the one all people in town avoided, closest to what – if this one squinted up to the hill behind it – looked like a graveyard. _Khenarthi take the souls of the dead,_ I prayed without thinking, quickly going up the stairs to the small wooden house, covered in white ash and black wood. From what this one could see, there was no fat near the fire, but the fire seemed to have started in several places. _Perhaps it was magic?_ I wondered, looking around some more. _There is nothing left of this house, only ash and burnt wood._

A young hairless-cub’s giggles startled this one, and I turned, hissing as I readied a Flame Atronach spell. “Gotcha! Ha ha!”

It was a ghost! A young hairless-cub-she-ghost!

I let the spell go, standing up. “Are you the little girl who lived here?”  
She nodded quickly, swaying on the spot. “Mm-hm! My name’s Helgi! What’s your name?”  
“This one is called Solän'cae. Can you tell me what happened here, Helgi? Who did this to you?” Gah, this one must deal with a hairless-cub, so ugly, so irritating. But she _must_ know what happened. She will tell me.  
“I died in the fire,” she shrugged. But then her eyes went wide, and she looked afraid. Then it was suddenly gone again. “Play hide-and-seek with me! The game starts tonight, so the other person who’s playing can join in, too! If you find me first, I can tell you who set the fire!” this little girl giggled, clapping her hands and then vanished, her giggles still in the air.

And this Khajiit called Solän'cae was stuck, standing inside the burnt house, shocked to have spoken to ghost.

I did not even notice the first of the white-cold-rain-snow begin to fall.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was wet and cold when I returned to the inn. It was barely afternoon, and there was nothing more I could do but wait for evening to play hide-and-seek with a ghost. Jarl Igdrod had suggested the graveyard when I told her about Helgi’s ghost, and this weather the Nords call ‘sleet’ had started in earnest. There was a woman serving here, one I suddenly remembered had the name Alva. _I cannot question her here – I have no other place to sleep. But this one is sure there is more to her than meets the eye. I shall wait for tomorrow to question her. Thinking of her, what is she doing, being rude to a patron?_

I ordered food from another girl, and sat down at a table not-too-far, not-too-close to where Alva was arguing with a hooded and cloaked stranger. Not loudly, but fiercely – like a private-and-public argument, the kind one has when one must do it in public, but without a scene. From here, where I sit to eat, this Solän'cae cannot see if she is arguing with a man or a woman. “Get out of this town – you aren't welcome here!”  
The stranger must have said something, but spoke very quietly. I growled, frustrated. I wanted to know what was being said!  
“Godsdammit! I know you for what you are – this town belongs to _my_ clan! You aren't welcome here, and you should leave!”  
And the stranger spoke again, this time turning slightly to look at her. I could swear her face changed slightly…. “Leave. But now we must return to our roles, lest sheep suspect wolves. You will regret staying here!”

And so she left, and her face was the same.

Had this one imagined something? Perhaps, but my instincts said no, there is more to all this than is known. I did not look away from the stranger fast enough, and the look that came over me was colder than the frozen waters of Skyrim.

It frightened me, and this one dropped her head and started eating immediately. I have a game of hide-and-seek I promised to play with a cub – I cannot deny her that!

 

* * * * * * *

 

This was it – Operation: Steal Faralda’s Notes was finally underway. It seemed, in her attempt to be as irregular as possible, she had managed to set up a routine. Once she was in the Midden, she tended to work on her research in one room, and then move over into another whenever she got frustrated. This second room was where she marked assignments and essay works by the Destruction students she lectured. Once she was absorbed in that, she would be busy for at least an hour at a time.

That was when I would strike.

Luckily for me, Urag _did_ allow some books out of the Arcaneum for research purposes, provided they were moved to the Midden with a scribe present. So it began that I dove into the Septim lineage again, with my tome to comb through everything again and make some solid notes and cross-reference things. There _had_ to be something I had missed or overlooked – I couldn’t believe that there no longer existed records of the Septims outside of the tome. Of course, I doubted they would use the family name ‘Septim’, but….

I sighed, hefting the books in my arms a little higher as I navigated the Midden with a scribe dutifully following me, another two books in his arms. After I had checked out these books, Urag had even recommended several others, though he had insisted they remain in the Arcaneum. So I would get to those after this was over.

“Thanks,” I smiled, dipping my head in greeting when the scribe put the books down on the table and left. I would have all the privacy I needed to do my research, and I could steal Faralda’s notes as an added bonus. I had argued Enthir up to pay me thirty-five percent of the payment for the notes, and Marcurio had managed to secure himself twenty percent – he _was_ going to help copy them all, of course.

Truth be told, I was quite excited by this – Enthir had mentioned several times before that he was familiar with several Thieves Guild members, and should this go well, he would send along a good word on my part to someone called ‘Brynjolf’, especially after I had let slip I wanted to join the Thieves Guild. So I had a future _career_ hanging on the successful completion of this little heist.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“I told you, _Onmund_ , a deal is a deal! You should have thought about how precious it was to you _before_ you traded it in. Now, leave me alone – I have better things to do than bother myself with trivialities like this!” the sharp and slightly husky voice of a familiar, shady Bosmer snapped.

 _Onmund did business with Enthir?!_ I stopped before coming across them in the Hall of Elements. If I stayed too long, I’d be late for Alchemy…. And it was already crowded in the Hall of Elements. I clutched my notebooks to my chest. _Too bad for Onmund, I can’t help him get whatever he traded back. But, why is he dealing with Enthir? He’s terrified of the Bosmer, and doesn’t trust him at all…._ I sucked in a breath and walked out into the open just as Onmund opened his mouth to argue. I flashed a quick smile at both of them. “See you later in the Hall of Nourishment!” I shouted, doing a quick turn and taking two backwards steps to grin at a sheepish-looking Onmund and a smug Enthir before being swept up in the crowd of students rushing to other lecture halls in the College.

I didn’t have time to worry about whatever shit that Nord had gotten himself into – I had exams to study for, and notes to steal. And research to cross-reference.


	11. Laid to Rest – Almost

I had been pleasantly surprised when Marcurio had come down to the Midden with a book Urag had recommended to me, but had refused to let me take down to the Midden. It dealt more with a – greatly – annotated history of the Blades than the Septims, but it also made some more direct mention of Al’Kardho, and alluded to a rather dramatic fall from grace after the Oblivion Crisis had ended, and how the Blades had tried to harbor this ‘public enemy’.

Even Marcurio had become intrigued by the information we found in that book.

But Faralda had just left her research room, and her notes were ripe for the taking. I grinned at the Imperial as he stood with the book. “See you later,” I smirked, stepping out with a thick book under my arm. Marcurio shut the door behind us. “Try not to slip on the ice. I’d hate to come back to clean up what’s left of your pretty little head.”  
“Oh, so I’ve got a ‘pretty little head’?” I quipped, letting myself into Faralda’s room without waiting for an answer. If, for some reason, Faralda came back, Marcurio could keep her busy enough for me to get out.

This would be easy.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It wasn’t sleeting or raining or snowing come twilight in Morthal, but it was still freezing – enough so that this one stopped to buy warmer clothes and thicker cloaks. I scowled against the cold of Skyrim, for the first time wishing for the warm sands of Elsweyr, but this Solän'cae had work to do: I had to find this Helgi before the other player in this game of hide-and-seek found her, whoever he or she was. Perhaps it was the killer?  
Either way, this one will find out soon enough. The graveyard was close, and Solän'cae thought she saw a dug out grave.

But the coffin was too small for an adult. Far too small. Was this perhaps Helgi’s coffin, and her grave?

I ran up the hill, just in time to see another – human – woman coming from the other side. She was dressed in black, pale, white like this Solän'cae, almost.

But she saw this one, and snarled. It was not a human snarl.

I summoned my Flame Atronach, drew my sword, and hissed.

And we charged, ready to fight, to kill!

The woman was fast, but fire was not her friend – she screamed and howled when my Atronach threw a fireball at her legs, where she fell to the ground. I charged, growl-screaming at her, driving my sword through her heart.

It was more difficult than I had imagined, but when the woman looked up, fierce and angry. She growl-snarled at this Solän'cae, and she had fangs. Long sharp, thin fangs, and her eyes glowed red in the now-night. “Vampire…?” I breathed, pulling my sword out of her body even as she shriveled and dried-died.

“You found me!” Helgi exclaimed, clapping her hands. I turned to the ghost-cub, wiping my sword on the black robes and sheathing it. My Atronach was hovering nearby, keeping me warm.  
“It looks like I did find you, Helgi. Who was that? The other player in your game?”  
The girl nodded. “Laelette was trying to find me too, but I'm glad you found me first! Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn't want to! She really didn’t want to burn us at all! She wanted to play with me forever and ever!” the ghost-cub looked ready to cry.  
“She – Laelette wanted to play with you… forever? That is not possible, you know,” this Solän'cae wonders: does this girl know the vampire, and that they are very real? This one never thought much of them, being so rare and almost impossible to find….  
“Laelette thought so – she kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold that the fire didn't even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can't. I'm all burned up. There’s no way we can play together forever now.” She was quiet for a moment, almost thoughtful, then she yawned suddenly. “Anyway, I feel tired now, so I’m going to sleep. It was fun playing with you!”

And then the girl faded away. I wondered if the ghost-child-cub would ever be seen again here.

“Laelette?! _LAELETTE!!_ ”

I turned to a man’s voice, desperate to find this Laelette I had killed. He was a burly man under the torchlight. He pushed past me. “Laelette…!” he breathed, his face relaxing in relief. He fell to his knees next to the dried body of the woman Laelette. “She's dead! Ysmir's beard! She's… she's a vampire!” he shouted, jumping up again and away from her. Then he turned to me, hurt and shocked and angry, this Solän'cae supposes. “You… did you…?”  
“She tried to kill me, so I killed her. What can you tell me about this woman? Her name is Laelette, yes?”  
“Y-yes…. Laelette is – _was_ – my wife…. I thought, I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks,” the man turned to look at the dried husk of the woman, a snarl on her face and fangs clearly displayed. Her eyes were open, yes, but even so, the red no longer glowed as it did. “My poor Laelette!” he whispered, water-from-the-eyes running down his face.  
“Did you notice anything strange with your wife before she left?”

This man started to shake his head, but then he stopped, eyes wide. “She began to spend a lot of time with… _Alva_. Yet just a week before, she despised her. There was not a moment Laelette would refuse the chance to voice her opinions of Alva, and suddenly they became friends. In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up. I never got to tell her good bye…” the man started crying again. “My boy has to grow up without his mother – that isn't right!” he shouted, more to himself than to me, I think.  
But if this woman disappeared when she was supposed to meet Alva, and then she disappeared. “They probably met that night, anyway. Everything ties back to this ‘Alva’ woman, of that this one is sure.”  
The man turned to me in pure shock. “You think _Alva…_ but that means…. Ye gods! You think _Alva_ is a _vampire_?”  
“This one believes it is possible, and it makes the most sense, based on what this one knows about vampire.”  
This one was sure she had to kill this man, with the look of hate and disgust he gave me. I hissed back when he started shouting at me. “No! You're wrong. You must be wrong! Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh. I _refuse_ to believe Alva had anything to do with this! There is _no way_ you can prove it to the Jarl!”

“Then you are the same as the dead girl, her mother, this Hroggar and now your wife,” I snarled, turning and walking away. This Khajiiti would need proof that Alva was a vampire, and the Jarl would need to know about this as well. But she would know after this one got her hand-paws on real proof.

Where is a good thief when you really need one?

 

* * * * * * *

 

I broke into Alva’s house in the few hours before dawn. This Khajiit was almost silent inside, going through the entrance hall, kitchen dining room, a bedroom where a large Nord man slept – this one supposed it was Hroggar – and finally, this one crept into the basement, all the way down, down the stairs. It was wet and musty inside, much like a cave. This one didn’t like the feel of damp-wet-underground here in this basement – it made this one’s fur stand on end, as if there was evil inside.

I was not too surprised to find a coffin inside the basement, a large stone coffin lined with velvet, and the finest of silks. This Khajiiti doubted that even the kings and queens of Skyrim, and the Emperors of Cyrodiil were buried in such luxuries. But I was surprised and suspicious that there was no-one here, and that a journal lay in the center of the coffin.

A brief reading told me it was Alva’s, and that she was working for one called Movarth, and that they were planning on turning Morthal into a cattle-city for the vampires of Movarth’s clan. It also detailed how Alva had seduced Hroggar, ordered the killing of Helgi and her mother, and the turning of Laelette.

This was the proof needed to convince the Jarl.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Khajiit merely watched as Movarth snarled and glared at this Nord woman, Alva, as she tried to explain the mollycat investigating the plans this woman had made. They did not yet know this one was inside their lair. But they would soon.

“Movarth, I swear! I tried to keep everything together, to make sure attention wasn’t drawn to us, but –”  
“But you _failed_ , Alva. And now, the citizens of Morthal, the city guard and this Khajiit girl will _surely_ come here to kill us. Your carelessness is costing me precious time on this plan, Alva.” Ah, this Al’Kardho has always liked the sound of an angry Dunmer – so quiet, so threatening…. This one could help himself no more, and he laughed, stepping out to where the vampires could see him.

“Who are you?” Movarth demanded, rising from his little throne in his little cave with his weak fledglings.  
“This one is called Al’Kardho, from the Volkihar Clan. We have heard that you are experiencing… _troubles_ … with the cattle here, and this one would offer you a way out. A salvation, of sorts.” Time to see what this Cyrodiilic vampire will do, yes?  
Movarth looked thoughtful, then suspicious, then he carefully smoothed his blue-grey face, his deep red eyes narrowing. “A member of the Volkihar is offering me and my clan –”  
“No,” this one shakes his head, stepping closer to the firelight. “Not your clan. Only you. Your clan is weak, only you have strength worth noting, power worth improving upon. Only say so, and this one can make sure that you will have no trouble from the mortals.”  
“And for what price? Loss of a _city_ full of cattle, my clan, and my freedom?” Movarth growled, his face growing more like that of an animal, his fangs long and thin.

This Al’Kardho only smiles back, his own fangs longer, sharper, more dangerous; his eyes a darker red, a more powerful-danger-red. “This one will wait for your answer. But if the mortals get here before you answer me one way or the other, this one will assume you chose not to be saved,” this one turns and stalks out, melting into the shadows as he says his farewells. “Perhaps they will be too frightened to act against such a rag-tag group as this.”

There is one that made to attack, but this Al’Kardho is long gone from the hall by then. Now he must wait and see what will happen. He has no doubt that the mollycat will come here to kill the vampires. She is too much like this one was, before he was bitten by one with porphyric hemophilia.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Perhaps this Solän'cae should have accepted the help of some guards after all… it would have been easier to move through the cave and kill the vampires. But now is too late: I am already outside the cave, already prepared to go inside and kill this one called Movarth. There is no turning back, and this one will prove she is capable! Fire is this one’s friend against the vampire, and this one has magic, a bow, and a sword. The Jarl gave me healing potions, magicka potions and a cure disease potion, so there is little worry for that. I can also see in the dark, as well as any vampire, and I have faith in my blade and my ability to kill. I can succeed.

The Dark Brotherhood waits for this one, after all!

 

* * * * * * *

 

The first five vampires were easy to kill, this one must confess. Were they perhaps new vampires, not yet aware of their power? The next three were more difficult, mostly because they were close together and the death of one led to the attack of another, and so on. This one must confess, the strength of the vampires is quite something. This Solän'cae would never have guessed that they could be so strong, or so difficult to kill in groups.

But the passage this Solän'cae now sneaks in has gone silent, the only sound that of water dripping from the ceiling. But there, far, is a light! Firelight, perhaps torch light, even. It is more than here where this one is, and that is where the last vampires must be. It is also where this one will be most vulnerable – shadows reach far in the fire, and metal reflects the light. I must be careful, and not alert the vampires before I am ready. A platform is built to give a vantage over the area ahead, and I opt for height. At least I will be able to kill one vampire before the others attack. Hopefully, only this ‘Movarth’ is left, because this one only has one healing potion left, the cure disease potion and two magicka potions. This one knows Restoration, but it is difficult to cast a healing spell while attacking.

And vampires are fast, as this one has discovered.

Staying close to the wall, this one had her bow in hand, and arrow nocked and ready to be drawn and fired. There was a Dunmer man sitting at the head of a table, covered in food and loot and other things vampires did not really need. Alva was pinned to the floor by two other vampires, and she was pleading for her life, begging to be forgiven for being so careless as to allow an outsider to see through the careful plans. I was curious, and so I kept watching.

The Dark Elf only glared at her, finally standing and walking over to her. He spat on her face, and this one couldn’t help but snarl. It was not right, even if they are vampires. “Because of _your_ carelessness, not only am I losing the city of Morthal, but one of the _Volkihar_ vampires is here! Do you have any _idea_ what that means, Alva?” he snarled, his face changing to something hard and uglier than before. This one could swear his eyes were a darker red. “No answer, hm? Let me explain, then: the Volkihar do not _ever_ tolerate other vampires! Either you are one of them, made from their oldest, or you die by their hands! The only reason they are _here_ is because _you_ were not careful enough! I told you to find a protector for your coffin during the day, _not_ to seduce away a _MARRIED MAN AND CAUSE A SCENE!!”_ he roared over the Nord woman, then lunged at her.

This one did not even _see_ him move – I only saw when he knelt on her, tearing into her throat and Alva’s screams…. And the blood. So much blood, everywhere….

It was exciting and terrifying. The other two vampires were focused on Movarth and the blood. Now was my chance to kill one, if not both of them! Then it was only Movarth…!

I drew, aimed, fired, killing one of the vampires. But these were faster, and one was already on her way to me. I drew another arrow and fired, but missed. I hissed, snarling and dropping my bow for my sword. I slashed at this she-vampire, yowling when she dodged and cast some Alteration spell. It made this one feel tired, and weak. _I must act quickly!_ I growled, running towards this she-vampire, sword straight for her heart. She tried to knock my blade out of the way, but this one had momentum! I would pierce through!

I was going to win!

But a sudden hand ripped into my side, and I could _hear_ the bones break as I slammed into the cave wall. My sword clattered to a side.

I couldn’t see straight through the pain. I tried to cast a fire spell, but I couldn’t think of how. I mewled, eyes shut tight against the pain in my ribs, and suddenly I was moving, flying.

I opened my eyes in time to see I was going to crash into the table, into the food and weapons and armor and candlesticks.

I screamed when my back slammed into the side of the table. It burned, like fire! I had underestimated the vampires here. Perhaps, if I could only drink this potion….

“None of that, now,” Movarth mocked, crushing the potion bottles under his boot, and pulled me up by my neck, gripping tightly. I hissed and growled, scratching his hands.

It didn’t seem to even irritate him. “How about we end this little heroic plan of yours, here and now, as all heroes eventually must die?” he laughed, pulling out a rusted iron dagger. I tried kicking, scratching, forcing him to bend his arm….

It was easier to hit a stone wall and make it move. “Don’t struggle so much – you’ll make me slip and kill you too painlessly!”  
I gasped in air, sides burning and hurting, screeching and scratching and kicking as the knife came closer and closer, finally stabbing in somewhere between my ribs. I yowled, nails digging into Movarth’s skin as he pulled the dagger out, stabbing it into my gut.

I screamed. _Is this how I die?! Like this, like an unnamed dog in a forgotten hole?! No, no!_

I had no strength to fight, the pain was all, that was all I had, all I knew.

Only pain. A sudden movement, and more pain. And something black, and screaming.

And pain, so much pain.

Pain, everywhere, everything. Pain, pain, pain, painpainpainpain _painpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpain –_

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Al’Kardho broke Movarth’s neck, almost twisting it off. Where – there! This one was not supposed to get involved, but wait out this fight and clean up the rest, but this Khajiit, this white-leopard with the strength of will to fight these vampires alone…. I cannot allow her to die! She is too much like I was, too young to die.

And so here was this vampire-Khajiit, feeding this white-leopard cub his blood to try and heal her. She had made it this far through the cave to get to Movarth, she had managed to take most of his clan from him with cunning and skill, she could not die here, so young and full of life!

This one growled, low, deep. “Drink, cub!” It was more than a mere command: it was a vampire compulsion, something I hoped would reach through…. Her life was so faint, her heart so fluttery and erratic. Her blood was warm, smelling still of the sands of Elsweyr and the spices… surely, a taste would not – _No! She cannot be prey; her heart is already beating more steadily. Let her heal, Al’Kardho, let her heal._ I take away my cut wrist from her mouth, and stand to take the robes Movarth was wearing to tear into strips to tie around this young mollycat’s wounds. There was not much left to do now, but wait.

Wait and see what would happen. More of this Al’Kardho’s blood would kill her, or make her like him. Already, that chance was great. But he must stop some of the bleeding more than it has already stopped, or it will not matter how much of his blood she has.

Al’Kardho does not wish the unlife of a vampire for one so full of life. The path of a vampire is not easy, nor something to be wished on another. There is too much one loses when one dies-but-is-not-dead. It is painful to be as such. This one had forgotten that, having accepted my fate a long time ago.


	12. Unfairly Accused

_He hadn't known what to do, or who to turn to._

_Alyna was still grieving Martin, and already the few physicians who were attending her and her babe were worried that she might give up on caring for the child, or that she would also die. Going to the Mages Guild would only bring on further suspicions about his nature, and already Al’Kardho had proven he was capable of utterly tearing into a crowd of mortals…. The only ones left he had been able to turn to were the Blades, and he had taken his time going to them, because wasn’t sure what Jauffre’s reaction would be. But when he had arrived at Cloud Ruler, haggard, tired, starved, Jauffre and Baurus had helped him up and brought animals in for him to feed on, and they had done what they could to help him find a way to get rid of the disease. There was nothing to be found, but they had promised him a place with the Blades and within Cloud Ruler for as long as the Blades existed._

_Then again, Al'Kardho hadn't exactly_ asked _to become a vampire! How was he to know that the cave he had cleared out was infested with the bloodsuckers? How could he have known that the nightmares and insomnia and the fever was due to Porphyric Hemophilia?! The disease was supposed to be almost impossible to contract, vampires were supposed to be an almost extinct creature…._

_How could this have happened? Was it because he had failed to protect Martin as he had promised he would? Or was it because no good deed went unpunished, and this was his payment for living a life of fame and fortune? Or was it merely bad luck?_

_Al'Kardho had no other choice – Cloud Ruler Temple was the only sanctuary he had left here in Cyrodiil, the only place where he was accepted despite –_

_“Troubles, friend?” a velvety Breton male voice asked, the lilting High Rock accent innocently curious. Al'Kardho turned to see a fairly pale Breton man walking towards him from between two buildings. The Breton was dressed in black pants, with a black tunic and a dwarven claymore strapped to his back. His ash-brown hair was tied into a low pony, and the Breton offered a knowing smile.  
Al'Kardho sighed, relaxing against an abandoned house wall in the Western District of Cheydinhal. “One could say so, yes. I… am having difficulty finding myself again, and wonder if this one can ever be at peace with this new darkness he finds is now a part of him.”  
“Hmm, that is a challenge, often. To know oneself, and then to find you have become something you thought you were not. I had the same experience many years ago, while on an expedition in Vvardenfell. One could even say I was _ repulsed _by what I had managed to become.”_  
Al'Kardho stared at the Breton man, lost in his own memories. “How… how did you come to terms with it?” he asked quietly, wanting to know but unwilling to pry.

 _The Breton smiled. “I realized that one can spend an eternity lamenting the horrors and the misfortunes that befalls one, or one can choose to see the benefits of having grown a darker nature, and use that in ways that best suit one’s natural talents. Once you have spent some time thinking on the matter, and deciding on a path, you might find what you are now is not so terrible as you think it is.”_  
“And this happened to you, and this is how you have made a peace with yourself?” Al'Kardho pressed.  
“It helped, yes. But, to be honest, you must find your own way through whatever ails you, friend. I hope you find what you are looking for.”  
“Thank you,” Al'Kardho called, smiling for the first time in a long time at the Breton’s back.

_He could almost have sworn, when the Breton turned to smile back, there were two long fangs over his lower lip._

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae groaned, stiff and uncomfortable. Was this what it felt like to be dead? Either way, I needed to stretch first.

“Ah, you are now awake. Good, I was wondering when would be a good time to move you to the city. Now there is no need.”

I opened my eyes, slowly focusing on a black shape. A man, his back to me. “Wh–”  
“Stay like that – you will open your bandages, and perhaps also some of the deeper wounds. This one is not very good at healing with magic, but he knows enough to not let someone die. I will bring water.”  
I sighed, relaxing. I was on something soft, uncomfortable-comfortable. And then the black-shape man knelt next to this Solän'cae, and she is surprised to see that he is a Khajiit. “This one is called Al'Kardho, and he will lift you to drink a little at a time, yes?” his gold eyes are sharp, intense, and this one struggles to look away. But I nod, and he carefully lifts the uncomfortable-comfortable bedroll, and me with it to drink.

He is careful, as one who has done this before, but also as one who is unwilling to come too close. He takes the water from this one too soon. “Later, you can have more. This one would rather not make things worse.”  
“Th-thank you,” I manage, hoarse and whispery. This one hates not being able to speak properly! But there is stiffness around this Solän'cae’s middle when she is laid down again. I reach up to touch bandages. _So, that pain this one remembers is true…._ “Try to stay still, your wounds are still healing. Perhaps, this one will take you back to Morthal tomorrow, depending on how they are healed,” the black-panther Khajiit Al’Kardho stands, turning away from me before I can really look at his face. Why is the name so familiar…?  
“This one is Solän'cae. Why… how did you get here? The vampires –” I start to ask.  
“I was nearby, tracking some vampires. I had not realized that there were others doing the same. You fought well, for one dealing with them for the first time.”

I was surprised: he was suddenly cold, curt. Had this one done something wrong? “Sleep now, one who is called Solän'cae. You must rest more,” Al'Kardho turns to look at me, and I find I am tired, and so I sleep.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was successful, and an unexpected act of good fortune was dropped on us as well – Faralda had been called away on College business to deal with some miscreants causing trouble in the wilds of the Hold. She would be gone for anywhere between a day and perhaps three days. We had some time to make proper copies of her notes and return them without a scene.

Marcurio was already in Enthir’s room when I walked in, dropping the curtain behind me with a satisfied grin. “So, I was successful!” I pulled out the research notes from my bag, holding them up proudly. “Time to make copies!”  
Enthir smirked, shaking his head. “You’re talented. Brynjolf would be happy to have someone like you in Riften. So, let’s get to work on that.”  
“Should be quick work, too – she has a neat handwriting, despite the volume of work she’s done,” I nodded, dividing the stack of notes into three and handing sections to the Bosmer and Imperial We’d be here for the night, probably, but that was ok – I’d be able to take the notes back to Faralda’s research cubicle tomorrow, and she would be none the wiser.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I walked out of the Restoration lecture hall with a happy sigh. I had just finished writing a test on some of the ways to heal people, both with the use of Restoration magic, potions and the more ‘traditional’ means – splints, bandages, stitches, that sort of thing – and I had a feeling it had gone well. And, I had gotten a letter from Solän'cae I was going to read in the Hall of Nourishment – I’d have to write to her too, some time soon. I just hoped she would give me an address to write to. Sending a courier on a wild goose chase around Skyrim was expensive.

A hand grabbed my arm, and I turned to look at the person behind me. I flashed a quick smile. “Onmund. How do you think you did in the test?”  
“I, uh – well, I think I did ok. This isn't my best subject,” he stuttered, his mouth jerking into a tense half-smile.  
I frowned at him. “Are you ok?”  
“Yes – no, actually I’m not.” The Nord pulled me out of the main crowd and stood in front of me. “Listen, Delany, I want to tell you something. Just… don’t get mad, ok?”

My frown deepened. We hadn't spoken to each other outside of class in weeks – what could this possibly be about? “Ok, I’m listening.”  
Onmund’s shoulders dropped as he relaxed, glancing away from me to the crowd briefly. “Listen, I think Enthir is a really bad influence on you, and that it’ll be a good idea for you to stay away from him. I don’t trust him, I mean, you know that, and –”  
“Enthir really isn't that bad, Onmund. And anyway, between him and Marcurio, my grades have actually _improved_ because they’re both far more qualified than we are,” I cut in sharply, trying not to scowl or snap.  
“Yes, but I have a feeling that they’re using you for their own ends! Delany, I care about you, and I’m not trying –”  
I scowled coldly at the Nord. “They are _not_ using me for anything, Onmund. I knew what I was getting into from the start, and they both know that I won’t do _shit_ I don’t want to!” I growled, raising a finger and shoving it in his face when he opened his mouth to argue. “And don’t you _dare_ try to insult people I have befriended and actually _know_ when _you_ –” I poked him in the chest “– were the one who chose to fuck off instead of getting to know me when you figured out who I was befriending!”

I strode past him with a dark scowl on my face, losing him in the crowd on their way to lunch.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I had managed to ease the scowl off my face by the time I got to the mess hall, and had calmed down enough to start thinking over what the Nord had said without getting overly angry. “Faralda’s notes are missing,” Enthir whispered in my ear. I jumped and flinched at the sudden intrusion on my thoughts, staring at him uncomprehendingly.

“What?”  
“They’re missing. The copies _we_ made as well as the originals.”  
“I didn’t take them! I went right back to the Midden as soon as we were done and put them back as I found them…” I breathed, trying desperately to think back over the last day. I had _definitely_ put them back in her cubicle in the Midden….  
“She’s also reported her research stolen to the Arch-Mage.”

I stared at Enthir, wide-eyed. “Why the _fuck_ would I not return it? I’d just be incriminating myself! There has to be someone else involved in this!” I thought furiously: who else could have known about what we were up to?  
“Alright, alright! Calm down, for the love of Y’ffre! We just need to find it before the Arch-Mage and other Master mages do.”  
“Where do we start?” I asked, following the elf to a table, pushing my food around my plate. I had lost my appetite.  
“Marcurio’s working on making some of the looser-lipped mages talk. I suspect it’s probably someone who either wants to slow down my business or who plans on getting in between a good deal,” the Wood Elf sneered at the Horker steak, stabbing it fiercely with his knife.

“Delany?” I looked up to see Mirabelle hovering over the table. “Come with me, please.”  
I glanced between her and Enthir, then stood to leave. I couldn’t shake the sudden wave of nausea as I followed the Master Restoration mage out of the hall, trying to ignore the few curious stares on my back.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“I swear, I have _no idea_ where those notes come from!” I stressed again, staring at the forged copies of Faralda’s notes in the hands of the Master Destruction mage. Mirabelle had taken me straight to the Arch-Mage’s quarters, where Faralda had been waiting with Arch-Mage Aren with a quiet fury.  
“Then how do you explain how _my_ notes ended up inside _your_ dresser, in _your_ dorm?” the High Elf’s voice was quivering with anger. She waved the notes at me again, and I scowled at her. “Or do you think some other student planted them here? Because I sincerely doubt that is the case.”  
“I have _never_ seen those notes, I would _never_ steal something and then be stupid enough to store it in _my_ dorm room! But since you already know the answers to everything, _Faralda_ ,” I snarled, furious that I was being accused of a theft I hadn't really committed, “I suggest you act on what you _think_ you know!”

“What in Oblivion is this?!”

We all turned when Marcurio threw the doors to the room open, a storm on his face. “Ah, Marcurio. Please, wait outside. I am attending to a serious matter –” the Arch-Mage started.  
“I can see that! And _I’m_ saying she _didn’t_ steal those notes!” the Imperial shouted.

 _Oh, for the love of the Divines, the Daedra and everything in between,_ I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut and lifting my face to the ceiling when everyone started shouting at each other, over each other. In a split second of near-silence, I seized my chance. “Enough!” I shouted, raising my hands. “Enough. Apparently everyone thinks I’m guilty –”  
“You're _not_ guilty!” Marcurio snarled, and Faralda was ready to snap back.  
“– And because,” I spoke loudly, glaring pointedly at the Imperial, “I’m considered the criminal of a crime I didn’t commit, I will pack my things and leave the College. There’s nothing else I can do for now. I swear to you, Faralda, I didn’t steal those notes. But you think I did, and apparently mages don’t change their minds where research is concerned. So I will leave tomorrow, first thing.”

I glared at Marcurio when he looked like he wanted to argue. I looked at the Arch-Mage when he shifted, looking thoughtful. Then he nodded. “I think that is best, Adept. You will also be banned from the College until the matter can be investigated more thoroughly.”

I nodded, turning and letting myself out. Marcurio could argue some more if he wanted to, but I had to pack my things. I supposed I’d be headed out in the world again – where I would go, I had no idea just yet.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I threw my red robes, a tunic and leggings, and my undergarments onto my bed, folding and rolling them to fit into my pack. I’d wear my armor and cloak tomorrow when I headed out. I shoved my clothes into my bag, scowling to myself. I roughly gathered my notes and slipped them into the leather binder I had bought, tying it securely. “Delany,” Enthir called, walking into my room with a fuming Marcurio on his heels. I didn’t need to look to know – Marcurio was giving off some of the most violent magicka residue I had ever felt.  
“What?” I asked, stacking my textbooks on a table to return to Urag later.  
“I’ve spoken to the Arch-Mage, and managed to convince him you aren't the culprit,” Enthir started.  
“But I still have to leave, and currently everything points to _me_ having stolen her research!” I hissed, throwing my bow and quiver onto the bed as well. My sword was propped up against the back panel of the wardrobe on the other side of the room.  
“Unfortunately, yes. I can’t really do much more than this, I’m sorry,” he said curtly.

I threw a glance at the two men standing outside my room. “It’s not your fault this happened. Shit happens in our particular line of business, right? This was that shit. I’ll be back some day. And you _better_ be working on getting me back in here, Enthir,” I turned a fierce stare on the elf.  
“Of course. Anyway, I’ve sent another letter down to Brynjolf about you and your potential to the Guild. So I think you should head down to Riften and try to find either him or a Bosmer called Niruin. We’re in touch with each other often, and they’ll both be glad to sponsor your entrance into the Guild.”

I stopped packing, and sat down hard on the bed, nodding as the springy mattress bounced me up and down. “Thanks, Enthir. It means a lot to me that you did that,” I offered him a meek smile. “Anyway, I have a few more things to pack, and I need to return the textbooks and the other books I checked out, then I’m set to leave tomorrow.”  
“Sure, I’ll leave you to it,” Enthir nodded and left.

Marcurio hovered at the entrance to my room. I looked at him, trying to ignore the look of helpless frustration in his eyes. “I don’t bite, you know. There _is_ a chair in here for you to sit on,” I jerked my chin at the chair in the corner. Marcurio snorted, coming to a halt in front of me. I stared up at him. “I can’t believe they think you did this – there’s nothing about you that the Masters know which would suggest that you do this often. They should’ve dismissed it immediately.”  
I grinned. “But that’s just the thing – I _do_ do it often. I’m just not stupid enough to hide it where people will go looking for stolen goods.”  
Marcurio shot me a dark look, then turned and left with a wave. I was almost confined to this small room until tomorrow morning. I sighed, all my anger spent. I was _exhausted_. I stood up slowly, grabbing the books I needed to return and headed to the Arcaneum. _Might as well get it done now,_ I reasoned.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Uh, Delany?”

Onmund. I rolled my eyes. _Just the person I want to see right now._ “What?” I asked, sitting up on my bed, and pulling the covers straight. I had been on the bed, awake and staring at the stone ceiling above me for a while this morning, after I had thrown the last of my things into my pack and changed into my armor.  
How exactly I had ended up _under_ the covers last night was a matter up for debate. I had flung myself onto my bed once I returned from the Arcaneum, just lying there and staring at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything in particular. I had opted out of going to dinner, despite the protests my stomach made, and listened to Marcurio venting to Enthir about my unofficial expulsion when they passed by. The Imperial Destruction mage was far more hot-headed than a red-head Nord with aggression problems. It had made me smile despite myself.

I must have fallen asleep some time after that, and someone had tucked me in.

I stared at the sheepish-looking Nord standing at my door so early in the morning. “Well?” I pressed.  
He shuffled uncomfortably, and movement behind him caught my eye. J’zargo took a few steps backwards, leaning on the wall enclosing the magicka well to listen to the conversation I was about to have. He had actually seemed upset that his greatest competition was suddenly ousted by other factors, and he seemed far less competitive than he had been in the beginning. “Delany, I’m sorry!” Onmund suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t know that this would happen! I’m so sorry!”

I frowned, standing up and stopped in front of the Nord. “I don’t understand. What are you sorry about?”  
“I – I did it. I stole Faralda’s notes from Enthir’s room, and put them in your dresser –” my frown grew into a scowl. “– and then I told Faralda I thought I had seen them here, and then they searched your dorm and found them and called you, and I’m so sorry, Delany you have to believe me –!”

My scowl turned into a snarl, and I felt my magicka seep out in anger. “How _dare_ you!” I snarled “How _fucking dare YOU!_ ” I screamed, shoving him backwards.  
“I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t!” Onmund tried to explain.  
I would hear _none_ of it. “What did you _think_ would happen, then? They’d let me off with a slap on the wrist?!”  
“I just wanted to get you away from that _elf_ –”  
“Well, you _succeeded_ ,” I shouted, shoving the Nord against the well. “Now I have to leave the College because you couldn’t leave things well enough alone!”  
“I’m sorry –”  
“ _SORRY DOESN’T CUT IT!_ ” I shouted, furious that my only chance at the College had been blown by a bumbling idiot. “I swear, Onmund, if it’s the last thing that I do, I will _destroy_ you! You will have _nothing_ left if we ever cross paths again! And if you _ever dare_ to contact me again, I _will_ kill you,” I snarled, letting the magicka in my hand ignite and turn into a flame where I grasped his robes.

I let go of him, backing away. “I will _destroy_ you for this,” I vowed, letting the curtain fall once I stepped back into my room. Classes would start soon, and he would have no choice but to leave the Hall. I was leaving today, but there was one more thing I needed to do here, and it was a very _personal_ kind of thing.


	13. Welcome Home, Sister

I left the Mages College of Winterhold with a darkly satisfied smirk on my face, much to the confusion of the other students, who had no doubt learnt of my ‘transgression’. Why, they probably wondered, would someone be _proud_ of being accused of theft and expelled?

Well, the reason for my dark happiness was this: as soon as Onmund had left to attend his classes, I had taken _everything_ he possessed in his dorm room – books, trinkets, academic supplies, textbooks, assignments, classwork, even his clothes – and I had gone down to the Midden, where I _knew_ that Nord would never go – he was terrified of the Midden – and I scattered his things all around the icy caverns. I even went beyond the marker Mirabelle had made a fuss out of, and dumped his things there. The only reason I hadn't gone much deeper, was because I heard the distinct squealing of ice wraiths.

Otherwise he would have spent the rest of the semester searching for his possessions.

It made me feel a little better about my unfair dismissal from the College, and I couldn’t wait to hear from the two friends I had here about Onmund’s reaction to my revenge. It was enough for now.

At least the weather was calm and clear today, so crossing the bridge wasn’t much of a hassle. I hadn't seen Enthir or Marcurio this morning, and I didn’t want to go looking for them in their classes, either, so I had left a note in the elf’s room thanking him for the Thieves Guild recommendations, and that I wished them both well in their studies at the College. In all the commotion, I had forgotten about Solän'cae’s letter. _I’ll read it on the cart to Riften,_ I decided.

Imagine my surprise to see them both at a table in the Frozen Hearth Inn in Winterhold, with a bottle of warm, spiced wine and three goblets in front of them. _Assholes,_ I thought with a grin, sitting down across from them. We had a surprisingly friendly breakfast considering, and Marcurio had announced he was leaving the College to gain ‘world experience’ as the Arch-Mage had put it.

What that really meant was, ‘Learn some adequate people-skills, Marcurio, and don’t come back until you’ve learnt that’. But I wasn’t going to explain that – what Breton thief is going to insult the person about to pay for her travel fees?

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae was escorted back to Morthal the following morning by the black-panther-Khajiit, Al'Kardho. He stopped outside of the town, though, and wished this one well, suggesting that I go see a true healer as soon as possible. I thanked him, and watched as he strode away. There was something about him, and his name, that bothered me. I couldn’t quite place it, either…. “Bah, go tell the Jarl that the vampires are dead, collect your reward and head to Falkreath. It is time to join the Brotherhood in full,” I said to myself, walking into Morthal, head held high.

And that is how I walked into the Jarl’s hall, and explained that Movarth and his entire clan was defeated and dead. Jarl Igdrod had smiled, nodded and given this one seven-hundred-fifty septims.

I had nearly dropped the coinpurse and my jaw when I heard. This one is amazed that she managed to keep her head together _and_ sound gracious at the same time.

And so, this one had paid for the fastest cart to Whiterun, with a slip to show the Whiterun drivers that this one is to carry on to Falkreath from there. I am almost too excited to keep quiet about the Dark Brotherhood. Ah, this one has finally made it in! At long, long last!

 

* * * * * * *

 

Whiterun was busy, busy as always, all sorts of people doing all sorts of things, usually selling and buying and trading. But when I went to the Gildergreen of Whiterun, it looked even sadder than before, the branches drooping and hanging, the leaves turning brown. _What is the matter with your tree, Khenarthi? Is there anything this humble Khajiit can do for your tree?_ this Solän'cae asked, touching the white-bark of the Gildergreen. But there was no answer to this Solän'cae, and so I turned and left, checking in with the Temple healers who said I was healthy, then selling some of the potions I had made, buying some new ingredients, making some more, and making some on commission from the Ataxia-obsessed alchemist. _I hate Imperial alchemists_ , I growled to myself, paying for a room in the Bannered Mare.

The cart for Falkreath only left in the morning, and there was nothing much to do here in Whiterun, anyway. Except wonder about Al'Kardho, and why he is so familiar to this Solän'cae….

 

* * * * * * *

 

“What, is the _music_ of life?” the Black Door of the Falkreath Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary asked this Solän'cae when she touched it.  
“Silence, my brother,” I purred, feeling the Door accept my answer.  
“Welcome, _home_ …” it hummed, and I opened the door, walking inside the Sanctuary. The Door shut behind me with a deep boom.

I could not keep the smile from my face, following the passage down the stairs, to the right, to the left, and then to an open area, where a tall Nord woman leaned against a wall. She was blonde, with green eyes. She smiled at this Khajiit. “Ah, so you made it here after all, Solän'cae. I was beginning to wonder if you would get here,” she greeted.  
I looked at her, up and down. “You are the one from the shack, yes?”  
The woman nodded. “I am, yes. My name is Astrid, and I am the leader of this Sanctuary. We’re the last one in Skyrim, possibly in all of Tamriel, too. Come, let’s get you settled in and you can meet the rest of our little Family,” she motioned I follow her, then turned and walked down more stairs to a larger, more open hall in the Sanctuary. There were stairs going up to the right, a pool to the front, a stained glass window above that, a strange wall next to the pool and more stairs between the wall with the strange writing and the water. To the left is a smithy, and a passage leading to a different room – an armory, perhaps? There was also a large, flat area here, possibly for training. Further in was another hall leading deeper, also.

It is a surprisingly cozy cave, this one must confess. It is like home. It _is_ home. _My_ home.

“This is the main hall, to the left is the forge and armory. Ahead is the alchemy lab, and that leads through to the dining hall and sleeping quarters. The stairs we’re passing on the right also lead to the sleeping quarters and two separate halls,” Astrid explained, pointing at the different items as we walked past and towards them. “One is currently in disuse, the other belongs to Babette, since she is the most different compared to the rest of the Family. Now, there’s something else that needs to be explained before you meet everyone.”  
I stopped when the Sanctuary matron stopped in front of me. I frowned, ears twitching for sounds. It was quiet, but not silent. Comfortable, safe. “Yes? This one listens.”  
“The Dark Brotherhood has always accepted those shunned by society, the murderers, psychopaths, serial killers; the insane and deranged; vampires and werewolves, and other man-beasts and combinations thereof. In this Sanctuary, we have both a vampire _and_ a werewolf. They are your Siblings, and they will not harm you. I expect the same on your side, do you understand?”  
This one barely suppressed a snarl. “Of course. Why would this one kill the members of her new Family? I came here knowing there would be strange things and people to find and meet – I trust that my Family will not harm me, and I will _not_ harm them!”

Astrid shrugged, turning and walking on. “Just making sure you understand. This is the alchemy lab, and these two are Festus Krex –” the she-Nord pointed to an old man bending over an arcane enchanter, a book open in the middle of the symbols and magical artefacts, “– and Babette. You two, this is our new Sister, Solän'cae,” she pointed to a little girl mixing potions before gesturing at me. A _cub_ was in the Dark Brotherhood?

The old man turned, scowled, and grunted a greeting. “Festus, the grumpy uncle. So mind yourself, girl,” the old man said, turning back to his book.  
The little girl was much friendlier. It made this one slightly suspicious. She smiled brightly, putting down her mortar and pestle, wiping her hands on an apron. “Oh, you’re the new Sister! Welcome, you’ll fit right in. Festus, you could at least say ‘welcome’ to her,” the girl scolded, her voice sounding strangely mature and extremely child-like at the same time. The old man only waved away her reprimand, and kept reading.  
This one wondered…. “Are you perhaps a vampire, Babette?” I asked, earning a surprised look from everyone. Was I wrong…?

But the little girl grinned darkly, showing off a pair of fangs as her eyes turned red. “You’re quite perceptive, Sister,” she lisped lightly, her fangs retracting as her eyes returned to brown. She looked me over once. “I think I like you so far. If you ever need potions, poisons, supplies or lessons, let me know. I have over two hundred years of experience to impart to someone willing to learn. Enjoy the tour, Sister.”

And just like that, the girl was back to mixing – what this Solän'cae is sure was – some kind of poison. “Few recognize Babette as a vampire. You might just make it past the first week in here,” Astrid admitted, taking me down to the dining hall. To the left-front corner was a narrow passage where cold-ice-mist hovered – that is where the meats and food is stored. “Obviously, this is the dining hall. That’s the food storage, where the cold is seeping out, and up there,” Astrid pointed up the stairs, “is where you will be sleeping. There’s no set bed, and you’ll find it fuller or emptier as people head out to or return from contracts. Usually, Nazir or Festus handle the cooking.” Astrid strode around the long table, and jogged up the stairs. I followed and found seven beds and chests at the feet or heads of the beds, depending on where there was space. “At least two of these chests will be empty. You can store your things in there. No-one will steal from you, so there’s no need to worry about locking it. Down there, to the right, is one set of stairs down to the main hall. Further down leads to a sort of open area, where Babette’s room branches out of, as well as a currently disused part of the Sanctuary. The wash rooms are through this passage between the pillars next to the wardrobe. The other members are all out on contracts for now, so you will meet them at a later stage. Get settled in so long, and welcome to the Family, Solän'cae,” Astrid finished, nodding and walking away.

Then she called to me over her shoulder. “Oh, and as soon as Arnbjorn comes back, I’ll have him measure you for a suit of armor. Until then, there should be some Dark Robes in the wardrobe there.”

I snarled fiercely at her back, ears pinned and tail swishing. I didn’t like her dismissive way of dealing with me. It made this Solän'cae think that she didn’t really care about the Dark Brotherhood. And this one had to wonder: what about the Night Mother, and Sithis? What of the Tenets, and the Black Hand, the Listener? Were they not all part of the Dark Brotherhood?

Or, since this was the last Sanctuary, were they longer regarded as important as before, and survival was the most important right now?

 

* * * * * * *

 

As it turned out, this Arnbjorn was a giant of a Nord, a former Companion, and a werewolf. And also the smith for the Dark Brotherhood. And Astrid’s husband. He had a habit of calling those not-werewolves different kinds of meat-cuts. This Solän'cae ended up being called ‘loin chop’ because it was close to ‘lion’ and a lion is a cat – and I am Khajiit. He had laughed while I had wanted to claw his eyes out. Along with everything else that was inside the man-wolf. But I needed to be measured for armor that was to be made, and he was the only one who could and would do it.

So I endured the name-calling.

When I finally left the smithy, I was greeted with a deep, hearty laugh, and a slow clap. “So, the kitten has survived the rabid dog! I am impressed, Sister. I am Nazir,” the voice deep voice belonged to a Redguard man, built like a warrior and looking like a calm assassin. This one likes him already.  
“So this one has. After all, that which is rabid eventually kills itself, no?” I grinned.  
The Redguard – Nazir – laughed. “Ha! Ah, you’ll fit right in here! Just don’t tell me you name before the first three contracts are done. I thrive by the ‘don’t name it if you might have to kill it’ policy.”  
“That will not happen to this Solän'cae – I shall return, and prove to be great!” I shook out my fur proudly.  
“Hmf, they all say that. When you’re ready for work, let me know. I keep tabs on all the outstanding contracts and send out the misfits in this dysfunctional Family to complete them.”  
“This one will take contracts, then. Tell this one what you have, and this one will go out and kill them!” this Solän'cae purred, excited to be able to get to work so quickly.  
“Very well, then! I can see you’re not the cat to spend the day sleeping. Let’s discuss this over whatever waste of food was made by that old Breton.”  
“Festus? This one thought the food smelt good,” I frowned – was his food bad, or did they simply argue about it often?  
Nazir snorted. “Wait until I get a hold of that cooking pot. You’ll never go back to the mage for anything.”

This Solän'cae was even happier! “The Breton is a mage?! Does he teach? Will he teach this one? What does he know?”  
“I don’t know – do I look like a fortune-teller?” Nazir frowned at me. “Ask Gabriella when she comes in, or ask Babette to ask Festus, or risk some singed fur and whiskers and ask him directly. Now, about those contracts….”  
“Of course, the contracts, yes!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

This one is to set out tomorrow with three contracts to complete, one in Ivarstead, one in Sarethi Farm, and the other one in Bilegulch Mine. Ah, the bliss of killing contract! This one is somewhat saddened by the news that there are no time constraints, no specific orders to kill or display the target. It is, to this one, as if the Dark Brotherhood is so focused on survival, that they have forgotten to place the fear and darkened respect into the hearts and souls of the people. Is this what it means to fall so far after one has been chased and hunted?

It makes this one sad-angry-determined. I _will_ restore the Dark Brotherhood! I _will_ lead it to a great and dark fear-respect-power! This Solän'cae vows it! Swears it to Sithis and the Night Mother!

But this one digresses from her thoughts about the Family I am now a part of. Babette is an eternal-child, a vampire from the Third Era, and she had been with the Dark Brotherhood since she had been turned. Festus was a great mage, a powerful mage, mostly Destruction – this one had begged for him to teach her, and he had finally agreed! How grateful this one is! – but also some Conjuration; well, more than I knew, but not much more. Nazir was once one of the Alik’ir, a great and noble warrior-brotherhood from Hammerfell. But he says no more of his past than that.

The wolf-idiot, Arnbjorn, this one cares little of. Disgraced Companion, smith, dumber than two rocks next to each other, Astrid’s husband. Astrid… this one will respect her. But there is something off about her. She was a born killer, and this one suspects she likes to make sure everyone knows it is her way, and no other way. The others, one Dark Elf called Gabriella, this one has yet to meet. The other is what Babette called a ‘Shadowscale’ – an Argonian trained from birth to be an assassin, first for their country, then for the Dark Brotherhood. They were greatly honored and revered in Black Marsh before the Empire started its vendetta against the Dark Brotherhood. Now, all were dead, in hiding, in prison, or untrained. This Shadowscale is called Veezara, apparently. This one is interested in getting to know him – and know what he knows of the Dark Brotherhood.

No-one yet has been able to answer this one’s questions about the Night Mother, or Sithis, or the way this Dark Brotherhood had worked while following the ‘Old Ways’, as Astrid liked to call it, over dinner. Babette gave me a look that said, ‘come to me later, I will tell you’. So I will wait, and find out from the vampire child when the others are not listening. This one can sense when conversation is considered taboo, and the ‘Old Ways’ and Astrid’s Way is very, very different.

This one thinks the ‘Old Ways’ is the way to move forwards. I do not think, but _know_ , that Astrid and I will fight and disagree over many, many things to come.

It will be inevitable, much like eternity to a vampire.


	14. Framed, Not Hanged

The contracts went by quickly, and this Solän'cae got to meet all of the Family members. This one finds that, of all, she likes Babette, Veezara and Nazir the best. Festus is sometimes too set in age, and that makes this one grumpy. Gabriella is too strange, and the other two this one avoids if possible. My armor fits perfectly, and the enchantments that come standard with the armor were all well-done by Festus. This one has never been so comfortable in armor before – it is a great feeling, to walk the world in such a powerful symbol. It is only a pity that others do not think the same of it.

But I will change all that, this one has sworn, and an oath like this is not one forgotten.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Riften was considerably warmer than Winterhold, and the sparse forests and autumnal colors of red, orange, yellow, brown and gold were a welcome and pleasant contrast to the perpetual white and grey of Winterhold. I liked not being forced to walk around with gloves and a thick cloak and scarves when I wasn’t inside, or not wearing my Apprentice robes. Interestingly, the College had let me keep them. I supposed, since they didn’t bear any official College insignia like the Master Lecturers had, it didn’t matter if I kept them. And they were useful, too – because I hadn't exactly chosen a preferred School, there wasn’t a specific enchantment bonus to my robes relating to a School – they were only enchanted to help speed my magicka regeneration.

Marcurio and I stretched, stiff from the past three hours of sitting in the wagon, crammed in with many other people coming down from Winterhold, Windhelm, Kynesgrove and Shor’s Stone. “Well, we’re finally here,” I managed before yawning. It was probably late afternoon – the cloudy skies made it difficult to tell the time.  
Marcurio nodded, glancing up at the sea of grey above us. “Probably.”

I shot him a sidelong glance. He hadn't said much since we left Winterhold, but then, more and more people had joined us, so conversation had become difficult without suspicious Nords accusing us of impossible and terribly damaging magical assaults of all kinds. We walked towards the gates, and stopped when a Riften guard held up a hand. I glanced between him and his partner – the glance he shot his companion made me wonder if I was about to be ripped off.

Riften _is_ the city of thieves, after all.

“Halt. Before you can enter the city, you need to pay the visitor’s tax of twenty-five gold per head,” the guard said, speaking just loud enough to be heard.  
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling Marcurio bristle next to me. “Are you serious?” I scowled, raising my voice. “This is _obviously_ a shakedown! There’s no such thing as a –”  
“Alright, alright!” the guard hushed me quickly, waving his hands up and down to try and silence me. “Do you want _all_ of Riften to hear you? Just let me open the gate for you!”

I snorted unhappily, keeping up my act as I strode past the guard, the Imperial Adept right behind me.

And then I grinned brightly: we were in Riften, and I could start over in the Thieves Guild! I just needed to find Brynjolf or Niruin, and I would be in on Enthir’s recommendation. “Some food and a place to sleep sounds like a great idea right now,” Marcurio commented, looking around at the wooden buildings.  
I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I think that’s an inn over there,” I pointed at a building ahead of us, a bee and a hook of some kind painted onto a wooden sign.  
“What made you think that?” the Imperial asked sarcastically, walking towards the building.  
“Gee, I dunno – the people sitting at the tables inside, and the Argonian innkeepers, maybe,” I shot back, looking through the windows for the first time. “Might’ve been the sign at the door, though. Not too sure. Maybe I'm psychic!” I wiggled my fingers at Marcurio, rolling my eyes and shaking my head with a grin.

Then my head was suddenly locked in between his arm and ribs, and he grabbed my head with his other hand and ruffled my hair. “No!” I growled, trying to break free. “Dammit, I _just_ brushed and plaited my hair! Do you know how knotted it’s going to be now?!” I giggled, trying to push him away and shake him off my head.  
“Well, that’s too bad – I thought you Breton girls liked playing with your hair,” Marcurio laughed, letting me go and chortling as I tried to smooth my mussed up hair.  
“Not funny,” I returned, failing to keep the grin off my face.  
“Right, right,” he opened the door to the inn with a half-bow. “Ladies with hair like cave trolls first.”  
“Asshole. It’s _your_ fault I look like this,” I strode past with my nose in the air. I would _own_ my free-flying and mussed hair because of that – and the chortle that followed me in.

We were barely in when an Argonian male walked up to us, wiping his hands on his apron. He gave us what I supposed was a friendly – albeit toothy – grin. “Welcome to the Bee and Barb, friends. Can I interest you in a table, with some good food and our specialty drinks? Perhaps also a room for the night?” he glanced between us, expectantly hopeful.  
“Sure, thanks,” I nodded. “On all accounts. Though, depending on capacity, we’d prefer separate beds, at the very least.”  
“Of course, I shall make the arrangements. Come, make yourself comfortable,” the Argonian gestured we sit at a table. “I’ll bring the menus for you shortly.”  
“Oh, before you go,” Marcurio interrupted. “Could you spread the word that I’m a battlemage for hire?”

The Argonian nodded, giving us another toothy smile before heading to the counter, where a female Argonian was working. We sat down at the table, dropping our packs next to our chairs – Marcurio's was mostly food and a change of clothes, mine was everything especially precious I possessed. “Well, at least that’s out of the way,” Marcurio stretched, looking around the common room with disinterest.

It never failed to amaze me how one person could look so completely bored with life, yet was irritatingly aware of lots of little things. I started undoing my plait, and ran my fingers through my hair to try and ease out the knots on my head. The Bee and Barb was evidently a popular place, as it filled quickly over the next half-hour or so. The service was quick, friendly – the Argonian pair worked well together, and they were the only two managing the entire inn. It was fascinating to watch them, really.

Over the rest of the evening, Marcurio had been called away by several prospective employers. Every time he returned irritated, and the would-be employer looked ready to throttle the mage. It was during just such a moment when a tall, red-haired Nord sat down across from me, a smooth grin on his face as he looked at me, leaning forwards as if we were having a secret conversation. I stared back, wondering what was happening. “You look like you’re short on septims, lass. I think I can help you out with that,” he said, making a show of looking me over.  
I raised a brow. “Oh, really? I don’t see how that’s your business.”  
“Oh, but you see, lass, that’s _exactly_ my business.” He glanced around the room quickly, then beckoned me closer. I obliged, curious as to where this went. “I can’t tell you much now, lass, but if you’re interested in a little extra coin, come find me in the market tomorrow. I need an extra pair of hands, and in my line of work, extra hands get paid well.”  
I stared at him – was he Thieves Guild? But before I could ask, he slapped the table with his hand twice, leaning back and standing. “If I see you tomorrow, lass, I’ll know your answer. Enjoy your stay in Riften.”

And just like that, he was gone. He’d see me tomorrow at the market, alright.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I managed to read Solän' _cae_ ’s letter at long last, once I was lying in my bed, and I had to laugh when I read about this ‘Kharjo’ she had a crush on – it made me think of Michael, and how he had simply vanished into the wind after taking us to Riverwood, and Solän' _cae_ ’s light-hearted teasing. Sure, he had told me that he could be contacted through the Imperial Legion in Solitude, but what was I going to say in a letter to him? ‘Hello, remember the Breton girl you saved, Delany? Just wanted to know how you were doing’?

I snorted, folding Solän' _cae_ ’s letter and stowing it in my bag. I had a better chance of finding Solän'cae wandering the wilds than I did getting a reply from Michael. I doubted he would remember me, anyway. I slid down the bed, and snuffed the candle on the bedside table, the smoke curling and coiling in the moonlight. _I should just forget that – what are the odds we’ll meet again, and that he’ll remember me? I’m sure he deals with so many people every day that he won’t remember them all._

Unfortunately, my dreams decided to head on exactly _that_ set of odds.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Marcurio had finally found an idiot willing to deal with his ego, so he was leaving with the man to do some research in Nordic barrows around Riften. He actually seemed slightly excited by the prospect, but damned to Oblivion if he let anyone know he _wanted_ to do it.

Meanwhile, I was waiting for the market to open, and hoping that the red-haired Nord was on his way here sooner, so I could find out exactly what I was going to do, and hopefully find out if he was Thieves Guild. Or if he knew Brynjolf. _Maybe he_ is _Brynjolf,_ I thought, looking around and wishing the market was open already.

“You’re early, lass.”

I turned to the Nord’s voice, flashing him a grin and sliding off the wall I had perched myself on. “First impressions, right?” I followed him to his stall, and helped pack out several bottles filled with a strange, thick red liquid. I tilted the bottle dubiously, watching the liquid almost refuse to move from one side to the other. I quickly put the bottle down with a sheepish blush when the man stopped to look at me and chuckle at my expression. “That’s Falmerblood Elixir. I’m sure this will be quite popular,” he grinned, carefully arranging the bottles on display.  
I stared at him incredulously for a moment before I remembered to close my mouth. “Falmerblood? As in, Snow-Elf-Falmer?” I checked.  
The Nord grinned. “Aye, lass. Thanks for the help. Now, I suppose you’re interested in knowing what I need an extra pair of hands for,” he leaned his elbow on the stall counter.  
_Fine, I’ll bite._ “Yeah, I’ll admit I'm curious,” I crossed my arms, standing straight. This was getting more and more interesting.  
“Good. Now, _I’ll_ admit, I’m glad you decided to help out, lass. What I need you to do, is steal a silver ring from Madesi, the Argonian jeweler, and plant it on Brand-Shei, the Dunmer who will set up next to me. You’ll find the ring in Madesi’s strongbox under his stall’s counter.”  
I nodded slowly, glancing to where the Nord gestured discretely. “How do you propose I get behind the stall with Madesi there? I may be good with a lockpick, but I'm not exactly Nocturnal,” I threw the man a questioning look. He merely grinned, chuckling. “Good! I’ll cause a distraction, then you get in and do what you have to do. Oh, and Brand-Shei has a pouch he carries almost directly behind him – should make things a little easier.”  
“Thanks for the tips. So, I’ll see you later!” I grinned, drifting closer to where the Argonian jeweler had his stall.

The market gathered quite the crowd early on, and the Nord was dealing with his customers rather carefully – selling several other colored potions, and skillfully turning down those who wanted to buy the Falmerblood Elixir. _Falmer blood my arse – that’s probably some other bizarre concoction,_ I thought, shaking my head. But I was curious – what if it really _was_ some kind of Falmer blood elixir? I couldn’t put anything aside on account of strangeness – after all, a _dragon_ had managed to appear in Skyrim. But also… no-one had seen any dragons since. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention to the right rumors.

Right about then the red-haired Nord caught my eye. Nodded. I grinned.

He pulled out a box, setting it down just outside of his stall, stepping onto it and sweeping up a bottle of the thick red liquid. “Gather around, everyone! Gather around!” he called, waving the crowd closer. “I have something important to show and tell! Gather around! Everyone! It’s something amazing! Gather around! It demands your attention! No pushing and shoving, now – plenty of room for everyone! Gather ‘round, gather ‘round!”

I watched as several merchants grumbled and shuffled closer to the Nord. The townsfolk were enthralled – obviously, this had to happen rather often. “Come on, man, what’s it this time?” a Dark Elf – the one I recognized as Brand-Shei, my mark, grumbled, sitting down on a stack of crates. I had access to him without being seen! Perfect! I rolled my neck from side to side, pretending to stretch out some stiffness while I checked to see who was looking my way. _No-one, excellent_. I stepped behind Madesi’s stall, dropping to my haunches.

“Patience, Brand-Shei! This is a rare opportunity! And I won’t want you to get left out,” the Nord continued, his voice almost like that of a great bard. It was the kind that convinced you to do absolutely anything. I could learn from him.

“Well, that’s what you said about the Wisp Essence, and _that_ turned out to be crushed Nirnroot mixed with water!” Madesi called.

I sniggered, sliding the counter door open to a small, iron lockbox. I pulled out my lockpicks, setting to work on the box.

“Ah, well, that was a simple misunderstanding! But _this_ item –” there was a dramatic pause “– I assure you, is the real thing!”

The lock clicked open and I took the ring out, closing the box and sliding the door closed. I stood, the ring cradled in my fist as I watched the Nord show off that elixir of his. I sidled up behind the sitting Dunmer, watching the Nord sell his wares.

“Lads and lasses, I present to you… Falmerblood Elixir!” he shouted, holding up the bottle with a grand flourish. Reactions were mixed – some applauded, some groaned. I grinned.  
I glanced down at Brand-Shei – he was still aware of me behind him. But his voice broke through the initial reactions to the Nord’s declaration. “Oh – are you _serious_? Falmerblood – as in, the Snow Elves?”  
“The one and only! Mystical beings who lived in ancient times, and who were great masters of magic! Imagine the _power_ that coursed through their veins!”  
“How did you get that, then? No-one’s seen them in years!” Madesi calls. Obviously, he’s one of the few seeing right through the Nord’s display.

Brand-Shei was debating to himself over whether or not he should buy the elixir. _Wait just a bit…_.

The Nord nodded slowly, admitting to that truth. I was also curious: how would he explain this away? “That is true, my friend! My sources _must_ remain secret for their own protection, but I can assure you, each and every one of you gathered here, that this _is_ the real thing, and that the contents of this elixir _is_ the real thing! One sip of the elixir and your wishes will be granted!”

Brand-Shei didn’t notice me leaning down towards his pouch.

“Great wealth! Everlasting life! Or limitless power could be yours!” the red-haired man shouted, getting more and more passionate. Brand-Shei shifted, uncomfortable – should he buy? Could he afford it or should he make a way to afford it? _There’s that pouch, nice and easy to sneak in a ring…._ I rolled the ring to my fingertips.

“How much does it cost?” Brand-Shei asked, moving forwards just as I dropped the ring into his pouch, the plant unnoticed. I slunk back, straightening and finished watching the show. The man shot me a brief glance before replying. I nodded: the job was done.  
“Well, Brand-Shei, that’s a very good question! This elixir, lads and lasses, only costs a mere twenty septims! Hurry before my limited supply is gone! This great offer only stands if you make your orders today and collect tomorrow! Only twenty –” he kept going, but I tuned in to listen to the Argonian jeweler.  
“He has to be lying!” Madesi growled, unable to contain himself anymore. I’d never seen an Argonian angry before, and it was somewhat intimidating. “He gives us merchants a bad name.”

But Brynjolf kept prattling a few catchy phrases, drawing in a quick crowd of prospective buyers. And suddenly he held up a hand. “And that looks like all I have time for today! Come back tomorrow if you want to buy! Only twenty septims! I’ll see you tomorrow!” he stepped down from his makeshift pedestal, gathered up his wares and packed them up. The crowd dispersed with excited disappointment, and I walked up to the Nord as he shut the wooden box. He grinned when he saw me. “So, you were successful, lass?”  
“Indeed I was. Mind if I ask why I planted that ring on that specific person?” I handed him a loose bottle.  
“Thanks. Well, I’m with an organization that makes its home in the Ratway, in a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. We were asked by a client to remind Brand-Shei to mind his own business. Here’s your payment, lass, as promised,” he handed me a coinpurse. A quick glance inside made me guess there was about a hundred septims.  
“Thanks,” I grinned. “So, you’re Thieves Guild?” I asked quietly, stowing my coin.

The Nord laughed, lifting his wooden box. “Aye, I am. Brynjolf’s the name.”

I stared at him. “ _You're_ Brynjolf?”  
Brynjolf frowned at me. “Aye. Do we know each other, lass?”  
“Uhm, no – not really, anyway. Enthir said he sent a letter to you about me –”  
“Ah! You’re Enthir's lass, Delany! Heard some good things about you from him. He said you had some real talent. Follow me, then; I’ll take you through the Ratway to the Ragged Flagon and get you settled in there.”  
“Just need to get my things from the Bee and Barb – and I definitely am _not_ Enthir’s lass, catch my meaning?” I smirked, bounding off to check out of the inn.

I was in. The Thieves Guild was all mine now!


	15. The Reach of a Justiciar (I)

The rest of the month flew by with the Thieves Guild with all sorts of jobs in the hold and a bit further out. Brynjolf was easily the friendliest, but also somewhat infamous for his charm around women. Delvin, a slightly older, and far less – shall we say ‘refined’? – Breton than Brynjolf, had a thing for another Breton called Vex.

Truth be told, I just didn’t see it. Maybe it was because we didn’t get along very well. The other women in the Guild were far more sociable – Tonilia was all smiles and drove a hard bargain as the resident fence and distributer of Guild armor, and Sapphire was a best-of-both of the other two. She kept everyone at arm’s length, but I quite liked her for some reason. Niruin ended up giving me pointers with the bow once I introduced myself as Delany (to which I got another ‘Enthir’s Breton-girl’) – those were lessons I valued greatly.

And then there was Mercer Frey, Grand Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild. He was grumpy, and rude, and was the only reason I made the effort to keep my possessions and secrets _mine_. There was something about him I didn’t like and didn’t trust, and the feeling seemed mutual. But I was forcing him to respect me with my success rate – apparently, success was a commodity in short supply at the Guild in recent months. I could almost see that – the place looked like a shadow of its former self, whatever that had been.

Delvin chalked it up to a curse of sorts, and when that was mentioned around Mercer, he nearly bit off Delvin’s head about it.  
During the course of all this, I had also managed to amass quite the fortune, compared to what I had been used to – just over a thousand septims! I had nearly cried for joy, and as a manner of celebrating, I wrote to Solän' _cae_ , teased a bit about Kharjo, explained my ‘leave of absence’ from the College, my new place in the Guild, and my failure to find anything concrete on my research.  
The most I found lay great praise on the academic- and battle-prowess of the Battlemage Alyna, Arch-Mage of the Arcane University in Cyrodiil, and Grandmaster of the Fighters’ Guild, also in Cyrodiil, who was an unconfirmed lover or consort to Martin, and whom I suspected was the matron of the modern Septim dynasty. Most works on Martin only ever spoke of his ‘great sacrifice to save the world from certain destruction’; and finally, an annotated history of the Blades and how the Champion of Cyrodiil, Al'Kardho, had somehow managed to become some kind of public enemy. And that the Blades had harbored him, keeping him away from the public. He had become a ghost, I wrote, and anything about his life was written as the bare minimum, and purely factual. He was a Khajiit, born sixteen Frostfire, Third Era three-oh-eight, in Dune, Elsweyr, under the sign of the Tower. He salvaged the town of Kvatch from certain ruin. He prevented the same fate from befalling Bruma, and due to his efforts, aided Martin in saving Tamriel. He had black fur, gold eyes, and white spots on his ears. He also had the ‘typical bejeweled Khajiit hairstyles of the time’. Whatever that meant. I also added that I had a suspicion that the three knew each other very well, and if we could find any remaining members of the Blades – because they _had_ to exist if the Septims had continued beyond the tome I had – they might be able to tell us more.  
I asked her how things were on her end, if the Speaker she had been hoping for had found her or not. I added that I could be found in Riften, and that all letters could be left for me at the Black Horse Courier. I even paid the hefty sum of fifty septims to send a courier chasing after her.

I also celebrated by putting most of my money into smithing lessons with Balimund at his Fire Salts forge – when he had complained that the forge needed more faire salts…. _I_ provided. Legally, _and_ illegally. The next five classes were free, so who was I turn them down?

 

* * * * * * *

 

The same day this one returned from another strong of contracts, Astrid pulled this Solän'cae aside and told me of a ‘real’ contract. “You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary’s assistant. You’ll probably find her in The Hag’s Cure, when the shop is open. The girl’s been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She’s apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out.”  
This one blinked slowly. “Very well. This one shall leave for Markarth. Is there anything else this one should know?”  
Astrid shrugged. “Not really. Just do whatever the contract wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it’s your first contract, I’ll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She’ll be generous, I’m sure. They always are!” she laughed “Leave when you’re ready.”  
_It is still early; perhaps this one should find out if there is a cart to Markarth or one of the villages in that Hold…._ I turned to head deeper into the Sanctuary, to clean up, change for travel, stock up, find out if Babette needed any ingredients, and go into Falkreath. If not, then this one would simply start out on foot, and buy a good horse on the way. Falkreath had no horses of its own.

“Oh, and Solän'cae?”

I suppressed a scowl and turned to look at the Sanctuary mistress. “There _are_ two other things, but unrelated to your contract. One, the Night Mother’s body and coffin will be arriving at some stage – I am not sure when, exactly, but it will be coming. The other thing is this,” the Nord woman pulled out a letter with a surprised and impressed smirk. The letter was still sealed with a strange, dark grey wax, and the seal was of a circle enclosed in a diamond. “I had no idea you had friends in the Guild – it’s good to know there’s one more person I can count on there. The courier made quite a scene when he insisted that you had last been seen in Falkreath while everyone else was denying it. You might want to write back and suggest letters are left at their offices.”

I took the letter from her, turning it over in my hands as I walked away. Who could have…? Delany! This one grinned brightly, a soft purr escaping – so, she had managed to find this one, then! And had written back! I opened the seal and started reading the letter. Then I stopped, nearly dropping the parchment. “Oh, in the name of our Dread Father Sithis and his bride our Unholy Matron the Night Mother!” I swore.

“Steady there, Priestess. I’m not ready for the ceremony yet!” Nazir laughed, walking past with someone.  
“Something wrong, Sister?” that was Gabriella. Though, that one already knows everything, anyway.  
“Yes, no – perhaps. This one is unsure how I feel. This one, she – _I_ – just… I remembered why the one I met with the name ‘Al'Kardho’ sounded so familiar….”  
“The disgraced and fallen Champion of Cyrodiil, yes. He was a Khajiit, if memory serves?” Now Veezara joins – is _everyone_ home today?!

This one scowls and growls, her tail twitching. “Yes, that is the one!” then I grow still, staring wide-eyed between my Brothers and Sister. “This one… I met Al'Kardho in Morthal, not long ago. Or, I think it was him. The same name, same appearance as the famed Khajiit legends say he looks…. But this one must be mistaken…” I shake my head. “Must be mistaken… he disappeared and vanished from Cyrodiil, Khajiit legend suggest he joined the Divines, like the one called Talos. Bah, this one has contract! Far, far! Must go!” I scowl, striding through my confused Siblings and rushed through my chores and necessary doings.

This is too much to think of inside the Sanctuary. I must start travelling, and quickly. That way, this one can sort through this muddle of information. If I really _had_ met this Al'Kardho, as he was-is, then he had become a vampire somehow…. This had to be what the books all spoke of, when they mentioned the falling of this great Khajiit.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Markarth is a beautiful city deep into the mountainside, made of white stone and bronze roofs. Water was everywhere – waterfalls, streams, pools… ah, this one stared for a long time at the new-Dwemer-city-on-old-Dwemer-city before I focused on the now. I turned to a guard. “This one wants to know, where can this one find ‘The Hag’s Cure’? I am looking for alchemy ingredients.”  
The guard pointed to the left. “Follow this road down, and up to the open-air smithy. You’ll see an Orc working with a young Imperial. Head through that, and up the stairs that you’ll then be facing. The mortar and pestle sign’s hanging above the door. That’s the Hag’s Cure.”  
“This one thanks you,” I nodded, following the directions to the shop. It is true… this one also wants to make a few potions, buy a few ingredients, and talk to this Muiri I am to speak with. This one wonders, where am I to kill whoever she wants me to kill?

I duck and flinch, reaching for my sword when a smithing hammer flies by, striking the stone next to an Imperial at the smithy. “ _TACITUS!_ ” an Orc woman shouted, furious. The Imperial was already apologizing.

This one opted to go around, seeing a tall stairway behind her. I could see the shop just on the other side, and I am sure I can pass around this argument and get to the shop from above, as well. And so I go, taking the tall-narrow-broad stairs quickly, following the pathways to the shop. There was a waterfall to this one’s right, the spray cool and refreshing. _I must focus on the footing,_ I thought, noting the wet stone, the slippery moss and the lack of railings. _It seems that the rude advice that Breton gave this one at the stables was right – ‘don’t fall’ is good advice_.

But in this one’s concentration, and in finally understanding – or so I thought – how to walk on this stone made me walk faster. So when a black-and-gold shape appeared in front of me, and I stopped-stepped-back suddenly, I slipped and slid forwards into the black-and-gold. Strong, long-finger hands gripped this one and pulled her up straight.

The ‘thank you’ died on this one’s lips when I looked up into the scowling face of a Thalmor Justiciar. Chin-beard, green eyes, hooded. “Careful where you tread, _Khajiit_ ,” he said quietly, letting this one go and striding past, his elven guards in step behind him.

I could only stare open-mouthed: how is it, that in such a cruel and domineering group of Thalmor, one was so strangely aware of others, and that _he_ , not this Solän'cae, a Khajiit, light and nimble on her feet, could walk so surely on this path? My fur stood on end, upset and embarrassed to have been bested by such a one. How dare he?

I carefully padded down the stairs, and entered the shop.

There was an old woman at the counter, black tattoos all covering her face, and she called to her young assistant, telling her she left the store in the young girl’s hands. Then she smiled tightly at me as she strode past, surprisingly agile and tall for one so old. But it is perfect for this one!

“You are the one called Muiri, yes?” I asked, walking down the stairs into the main shop. The girl looked up, startled at the direct question.  
“Y-yes, I’m Muiri. Welcome to the Hag’s Cure –”  
“The Dark Brotherhood is come. Tell this one, what is it you need from us?”

She looked ready to scream in fright and laugh in joy. “You’ve come? You're really the Dark Brotherhood?”  
“Of course!” I nodded. “Now, tell this one what you need done.”  
“Oh, yes – yes of course,” she blushed. “Well, I need you to kill my former lover, Alain Dufont. I want you to hunt him down, and kill him like the conniving _dog_ he is!” she snarled, her hands fisting at her sides. She looked ready to cry. “I didn’t know it back when we were together, but Alain… he’s the leader of a group of bandits. I’ll pay you in gold for your services – I’ve saved up quite a bit, and I think it’ll be enough.”  
“This one shall go forth and kill him. Tell me more – where to find him, how you would like him to pay for his crimes.”  
She shook her head. “I don’t really care how you kill him – just make sure he’s dead and that it _hurts_. He’s holed up outside of Windhelm, in a dwarven ruin called Raldbthar. They stage their heists from there, so you might meet some of his friends. I don’t really care about them, either – do whatever you want with them. Just please, kill Alain. He _has_ to die, no matter what!” she choke-sobbed.

I nodded again. “Alain Dufont shall be killed, that is what this one promises. Is there anything else, or does this conclude this business of ours?”  
Muiri hesitated, then half-nodded, half-shook her head. “There _is_ one other thing, if possible…?”  
“Anything is possible. I am of the Dark Brotherhood, Muiri.”  
Her lips twitched – this one supposes it was meant to be a smile. “There is another person I would like you to kill. She doesn’t fall part of the original agreement, but if you _do_ decide to kill her as well, I’ll pay you even more. Her name is Nilsine Shatter-Shield, and she lives in Windhelm. We… were like sisters, but after Alain was revealed to be a bandit, and Nilsine’s sister was killed…” she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears as her voice wavered. Really, were _all_ hairless-ones _this_ emotional? So they wronged you – the Dark Brotherhood is here to fix that! I sighed, waiting for her to continue, so I wandered to the counter and sat on it. “They threw me out on the street, and treated me like _I_ was the one who had killed her! I had no idea Alain was behind it! _I_ hadn't asked him to kill her! And then the Shatter-Shields treated me like _dirt_ ,” she hiccupped, sneering. “Did they think _I_ didn’t feel their loss either? I want them to feel how I felt, and that’s why you have to kill Nilsine!”

I nodded, sliding off the counter. My time here is done. “This one will kill Alain Dufont, in his base at Raldbthar, and I will also kill Nilsine Shatter-Shield in Windhelm for you, as you ask.” I grinned at her, the dark, blood-desire grin of a killer. “I promise you, they will scream. They will know who sent the Dark Brotherhood!”  
Muiri sniffled, and looked hopeful. “Thank you, oh thank you! Here, just wait a moment – I brewed a special poison –” she clutched her skirts and raced to a back room, calling back to me “– that I was going to use on them myself, but I lost my nerve.” She raced back, carrying two small vials of a dark purple-red-black poison. “This is Lotus Extract – a potent poison. I hope it serves you well,” Muiri sniffled, holding them out to me.  
“This one thanks you many times for this poison. I shall reserve it for two very special people.” I grinned, tucking them into my satchel and turning to leave the shop. Now, I had names, places, the means….

I stopped when I reached the door. “Muiri, I have one final question, unrelated.” She glanced at me, confused. I continued. “There are Thalmor here, I saw, and I wondered, how is it that such elves can walk these wet-slippery-stones so easily, while even this Khajiit struggles?”  
Muiri giggled, half-smiling. “The soles of their shoes are enchanted to grip the ground they walk on more strongly than if the shoes were coated with a rubber and grooved. It’s the only way they stay upright in Markarth. You know,” she touched her neck shyly, “I heard that the Justiciar nearly fell over the first time he walked along Markarth’s paths. Wish I had seen that.”

I nodded, and left. A Justiciar, slipping-falling… I would kill to see that! Ha ha! I purred, happy that it was not this one’s failing balance that had made her lesser to the mer. So this Solän'cae turned back to her earlier train of thought. The signature I would use, claiming my kills. I needed to buy a few tools in order to make sure it was right, so I needed a general trader. Or a stationer-scriber-Courier office. Any of those would do, if they had what I was looking for.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I bought my supplies to mark my kills, and now I stretched up, mewling and squealing and enjoying the stretch completely. “Ah, it is good, yes…” I murmur, blowing out my candle in my bed-for-the-night at Silver-Blood Inn. I stood, and carefully sat down on my stone bed, and fell asleep.

Stone beds are strangely comfortable, this one must confess….

 

* * * * * * *

 

And with all this in mind, and all the things I need in my pack, I left Markarth early the next morning and stopped at the stables. The stablemaster nodded in greeting. “This Khajiit is looking for a horse. It must be fast, strong, agile, well-trained, level-in-head, and not one easily excited but not one that is risen-dead. Thus, not very young, not very old. I do not have much time to train a horse from the beginning – never minding that it is not something this one is versed in. I do not want something that is difficult, either. Also, it must be able to come if called, or, if that is not possible, then I would ask you how I might teach that.”

The man looked impressed. “Well, based on that, I’d say you’re looking at either a gelding or a stallion, roughly six years old. Now,” he motioned I follow him into the barn. “A gelding is generally more level-headed than a stallion, but I’ve always believed a stallion should be made to learn manners as well, so you’ll find my horses are not malicious. Not that I’m guaranteeing they’ll stand for anything – startle or upset them, and they’ll react in one way or another. They are, after all, animals with minds and reactions of their own. I have four horses here that are the ones best suited to your needs. Currently, though, they are _not_ trained to come when called. Teaching them, however, is fairly easy provided the cue is consistent, and training and reward constant, especially in the beginning.”

He pointed out four horses along the rows of stables. “These are the four I have that match what you are looking for. A stallion –” he pointed at a brown-and-black horse “– two geldings –” he pointed out a dark orange horse and a light brown one “– and lastly, I have a mare.” This last one was white.

This one listened while he told me more about them, their personalities, their training, heights, and explained how I would teach them to come when called. Apparently, a whistle was favorable because it traveled further. He also mentioned how, with a recent rise in adventurers, he was training his current group of foals to come at the call of a horn.

Eventually this one settled on the brown-and-black horse the man called a ‘bay’. Two-thousand gold septims later, I had a horse, head-steering-bridle, saddle-with-bags, and I was on my way to Windhelm. Again.

I should just buy a house there, really….


	16. Solitude and the Mind of Madness

I killed Alain Dufont first, cutting through his petty cutthroats first and finally slicing through his neck down to the spine-bone. And while he lay there, bleeding out, I dropped my mark-signature down on his chest. Ah, it might be a while before others find this one, but then they would know it was _me_.

Nilsine, however…. Ah, that one was a delightful kill. Her mother was awake in the house when I broke in at night, so I broke her neck before she could scream for help. Then I crept up to Nilsine’s room, watching her sleep so peacefully, so unaware that she was about to die. I stroked her hair back, ran my claws down her cheek. _Lover, let me use your power today, that this girl might open her eyes and watch,_ I prayed, and kissed the young woman’s cheek. She stirred in her sleep, slowly waking. I pulled open the curtains on this top floor, the moons lighting the room beautifully. “Ah, such a beautiful night, yes?” this Solän'cae asked, turning to look at the now-paralyzed-terrified-awake woman. Her eyes widening, questioning, nostrils flaring and chest heaving in panic. “Ah, forgive this one – you cannot move, cannot speak. This one has paralyzed you, as the Lover allows this one. Now, you must know – I am of the Dark Brotherhood, and Muiri wants you dead.” I finished, dripping a poison onto the glass dagger I had asked Arnbjorn to make for me. “So I am here to carry out the wills of the Night Mother and Sithis. Don’t worry, Nilsine Shatter-Shield,” I purred, caressing her face, my tail swishing in the moonlight. “You shall not wake the others with your screams once I poison you. For you shall still be paralyzed.”

I stabbed the dagger into her shoulder, where the poison would carry into her heart and around her body, slowly, painfully. It was one of Babette’s – the others I used on Alain Dufont’s men. It was too fast for this kill. Nilsine’s face twisted in pain, as she desperately tried to scream. It was one which caused paralysis through great pain, and ate away the air in one’s blood and lungs. She would suffocate to death. I smiled at her when she opened her eyes to look at me, and I dropped my page on her chest, touching her cheek and kissing her forehead. “This one shall see you in the Void one day, Nilsine Shatter-Shield.”

And so I returned to Muiri, told her of my success, and received my rewards. Eight-hundred septims and an enchanted ring – one which made potions and poisons up to twenty-five percent more powerful when the ring is work while making them. That ring alone is worth more than gold to this Solän'cae. And after that, I returned to the Sanctuary.

News had already reached them of my kills, and the Black Horse Courier was headlined with ‘The Black Paw: Murderer or Savior?’ – and a drawing of my signature right below, of the Black Hand of the Dark Brotherhood, and just next-to-below it, a quick pawprint. It made a fuss about Nilsine, and then connected her murder with the murder of Alain Dufont, a known bandit. Had they been working together, the Courier asked. And then old Grelod was brought in at the end, wondering if she was also killed by the ‘Black Paw’ – after all, a bloody pawprint had been found where she had been killed. But the signatures were different – at least two were connected. And then the debated my villain-ness or my heroine-ness – I _had_ killed an abusive old hag running an orphanage, I _had_ killed a bandit, but what about Nilsine? Perhaps, the Courier concluded, she had also been a bandit.

This Solän'cae had merely laughed as she walked into the Sanctuary, and it was here where I saw the jester-merry-man again. _This man, he is one of us! He is one of the Dark Brotherhood!_

Ah, it had been so exciting to speak to this Imperial as a Brother, to have him tell me all about the Old Ways as the Dark Brotherhood was, and how it will be. Astrid disliked this madman-merryman, and this Solän'cae had no doubt she would want him dead or spied on soon. But there was another contract for this one to complete in Solitude, and so I left again, ready to kill for our Dread Father and Night Mother!

 

* * * * * * *

 

I trudged into Castle Dour, tired and grimy from travel and battle in the fields around Dragon Bridge earlier in the day. We had been successful in stopping the Stormcloaks from taking the village, _and_ prevented the testy alliance they were constructing with the Forsworn from solidifying. It was a relief, and General Tullius needed to know we had been successful. “Praefect. You’ve returned from Dragon Bridge. What’s the news?” he asked curtly.  
I saluted quickly. “General Tullius, sir, we have been successful in stopping and repelling the Stormcloaks around Dragon Bridge, and have secured the village. We have managed to take two higher-ranking members prisoner, as well, however they are not officers. Also, it seems this attack was meant to be a manner of establishing and securing an alliance with the Forsworn tribes of the Reach. We have managed to break this alliance, and the Forsworn fled before any could be apprehended for questioning, sir. I doubt they will return, but I have left the greater part of our contingent there should they attempt a second attack. ” I finished, waiting for Tullius’ reaction.

The man nodded, offering me a rare smile. “Well done, Michael. I’ll send some fresh men down first thing in the morning to replace yours. You’ve been invaluable here in Skyrim, and I thank you for that.”  
I nodded. “It’s my duty to protect and serve the people of the Empire, General Tullius. I’m just doing what I should.”  
“Hmph! Duty indeed…. I’m taking you off assignments for all of Morning Star, starting from now. You’ve earned some time to rest, especially with all that dragon-business in Helgen and your successes in the field against the rebels. I’ll see you in five weeks, Praefect. Enjoy the New Year’s festival.”  
“Thank you, General Tullius.” I saluted, leaving the Castle Dour. Proudspire Manor wasn’t much farther from here, and it would be a welcome sight after weeks in the field hunting down leads on the Stormcloaks and trying to quell their presence in Haafingar.

The manor was one of a very few things Delphine and I had actually agreed about, though my methods of obtaining it had infuriated her – a farmer had requested someone look into disappearances around Wolfskull Cave, and while Falk Firebeard hadn't intended to do much about it, I had offered to investigate and cleared out a group of would-be Potema-ressurecters and –cultists. A second advantage to serving the people of Solitude was my honorary title of Thane – it allowed some freedom in the Blue Palace as well as permitting me to get closer to the Thalmor active in political circles. ‘Know thy enemy’ – it was the only way we would be able to stop the Aldmeri Dominion and free the Empire.

Then this rebellion would be proven to be unnecessary.

I unlocked the front door to Proudspire Manor, and smiled at Jordis when she appeared. She smiled, fisting her hand over her heart in greeting. “My Thane, welcome home.”  
“Thank you, Jordis. It’s good to be back.”  
“I can believe, Thane. Everything is in order for you,” she reached into a stiff leather bag at her hip. “This letter came for you today from Riverwood, my Thane.”  
“Thank you,” I took the letter, turning it over to see the dark green and gold seal, stamped with three upright swords. _Delphine,_ I frowned. “I’ll be upstairs – no-one is expected here tonight, and unless it’s an important or urgent matter, no-one is to come inside.”  
“Of course, Thane Michael,” Jordis fisted her hand over her heart again with a smile.

I trudged up the stairs, looking forwards to being clean and out of armor for the first time in a long time. _What does Delphine want now?_ I broke open the seal and scanned the letter quickly.

_Michael,_

_As soon as you are able to, make your way to the city of Whiterun. I hear the Jarl is looking for an able-bodied adventurer with abilities above the average mercenary, and I would suggest you – _was it really necessary for her to _underline_ that? – _are the one who should offer your services to him._

_As soon as you do, stop by Riverwood so we can talk._

_Delphine_

I folded the letter carefully, breathing in deeply through my nose. Could she not just tell me what she had found, so I could fetch it _directly_? It would be much easier than acting as a puppet…. _Never mind that. I have leave of absence from the Legion, so I have exactly one month to find whatever she found, and get back to Legion duty._

 

* * * * * * *

 

I sighed happily, my face turned up to the twilight sky above. This was the last of several jobs I had taken for the Thieves Guild, and all the others had gone off without a hitch. This last one was a numbers job, and all I had to do was correct the Winking Skeever’s ledger. And then I would stay for the New Year’s festival. Already the city of Solitude showed signs of the festivities to come – bards were congregating and practicing their instruments, making sure they knew their stories and lyrics; shops were holding sales and colorful banners were draped between the buildings and ribbons tied to the trees and lampposts. Redguard troupers were here as well, practicing dances and plays and offering to have fortunes told.

I briefly considered having _my_ fortune told, but the line was too long – and I wanted to book a room at the inn. Sure, Solitude had about four or five inns, but the Winking Skeever was by far the cheapest of them all. And, naturally, the busiest. I shoved my way to the counter, and managed to buy the last single-bed room in the inn. It went about five floors up, and the third floor was the quietest – only a single Nord man sat sleeping at a table, a drum at his feet. It was also the floor where the ledger lay open, with a quill and inkpot conveniently placed nearby.

I deposited my things in my room, locking my pack in a chest, and then locking the room. I quickly checked that the Nord was still asleep, and put a minor paralysis spell on his eyelids to keep them closed for a little bit longer. I forged the numbers in the ledger, carefully dusting the ink and blowing it off, cleaning the table and ringing a bell to call up a serving girl. I deserved a little food and drink after all my hard work and success as a thief!

 

* * * * * * *

 

I spent the last day of Evening Star wandering the streets of Solitude, buying sweets and watching bards and performers and talking to a crazy Bosmer looking for his master – on vacation in the Blue Palace. I was given a hip bone and told to go to the Pelagius Wing. That was definitely where his master was visiting an old friend.

I still don’t know why exactly I had agreed to fetch this Wood Elf’s master from his strange vacation place, but I did. And so I stole the key to the Pelagius Wing, and wandered through the stacked furniture, the styles clearly from a long bygone era, the crumbling books and dusty floors, the thick spider webs and the tattered banners and tapestries. _This is a special kind of sacrilege_ , I thought, frowning. I walked up ancient stone stairs, and just as I turned to walk into another room, the world spun wildly around me – I covered my head with my arms, hoping I wouldn’t fall back down the stairs.

“And that stance, girl? You look like you’re standing in a hurricane! Or maybe ya are! Or ya _think_ ya are! Tell me, which one is it?!”

I turned to stare at a grey-haired man seated in the middle of a table set for tea. At the head sat another man, with long blonde hair and a wild look in his grey eyes. The one in the middle raised his brows and gave me an expectant look. “Well? You have a tongue, or is it a piece of red cheese in your mouth? Red cheese is _delicious_ , you know! Especially in a brain pie. I _love_ brain pies.”

My mouth worked as I tried to think. I was standing in a field of sorts, and the man speaking to me wore an outfit that was half orange and yellow, and half purple and blue-green. His gold eyes were the strangest I had seen, and yet I found I was more curious than afraid. “Uhm, yeah, well – it _felt_ like the world was spinning…. Where am I?”  
“Somewhere, anywhere! Nowhere, really. In the Blue Palace, but not! Inside dear Pelagius’ mind, but not!” the man with the golden eyes said. The other one snorted, scowling into his tankard.

“More tea, my dear Pelly?” he asked cheerfully, turning to the man with the long hair.  
“Oh, I couldn’t…” the other man sighed. “Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do! So many undesirables to contend with! Naysayers! Buffoons! Detractors! Why, my headsman hasn’t slept in _three days_!” the blonde man held up three fingers.  
The man with the golden eyes laughed. “You’re far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius!” the gold-eyed man laughed. “What would the people do without you? Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old? You are the _best_ Septim that ever ruled!” the man’s eyes twinkled with delight as he laughed. Then his face twisted in pain, and he sobered. “Well… except for that Martin fellow, but he went and turned into a dragon god, and that’s hardly sporting. You know, I was there for the whole sordid affair, as it was happening. Marvelous time!” Gold-eyes jumped up, spilling tea with a sudden excited vigor. “Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head…! Oh, and the cheese!” Gold-eyes flopped back into his chair, his face changing to something more… feminine? “To die for,” she whispered.

I frowned, that face… had I seen it somewhere before?

Pelagius scowled, waving away the other man-woman’s words. “Yes, yes! As you’ve said, countless times before….”  
“Harumph!” the man-woman huffed, put out by the lack of enthusiasm and crossed his arms over his chest. _Thank goodness he’s male again, I think_. “Well then, if you're going to be like that…. Perhaps it’s best I take my leave. A good day to you, sir!” he started banging the table with his fist. “I SAID _GOOD DAY!!_ ”  
“Yes, yes, go… leave me to my responsibilities and burdens….” And then he vanished.

I gawked. Gold-eyes turned to me, gesturing to where Pelagius had been. “How rude! Can’t be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two!”  
I nodded slowly. “Terribly. Might I ask, who was that?”  
“You might ask, and ya did! That was Emperor Pelagius the Third. Now, surely even _you_ know about Pelagius’ decree? On his deathbed – oh, and this was inspired –” Gold-eyes laughed, “– he forbade… _Death_! That’s right! Death! Outlawed!” Gold-eyes roared with laughter.  
I found myself chuckling along nervously. “Uhm, so, you said we’re inside Pelagius’ mind, right?”  
“Yes, silly! Inside Pelagius III’s mind – oh, is this your… _first time_?” he stage-whispered.

I blushed despite myself, nodding. “Yeah…. But I have a message to deliver for you –”  
“ _REEAAAALLLLLLLLYYYYY?!_ ” he leapt up from his throne. “Ooh, ooh! What kind of message?! A song? A summons? A death threat written on the back of an Argonian concubine?! Those are my favorites!” I gaped, about to speak when Gold-eyes kept going, sitting down again. “Well?! Spit it out Mortal! I haven't got an eternity! Actually…” he giggled darkly, “I do! Little joke. But seriously. What’s the message?”  
“I’ve been asked to bring you back from your vacation.”  
“Were you now? By whom?” he leaned back thoughtfully, then held up a finger. “WAIT! Don’t tell me, I want to guess! Was it Molag? No, no…. Little Tim, the toymaker’s son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it…. Yes! Stanley! That talking grapefruit from Passwall! Wrong on all accounts, aren't I? Ha! No matter – honestly, I don’t want to know. Why ruin the surprise? But more to the point.” Gold-eyes leaned forwards, elbows on the table as he pointed at me with a glare. “Do you – tiny, puny, expendable little mortal – actually _think_ you can convince me to leave? Because that’s… _crazy_. Do you realize who you’re dealing with here?”

I hesitated for a moment. I had a suspicion, but that was all. “If I had to guess – which I suppose I do – I would say you’re a madman.”

Gold-eyes leaned back, laughing and clapping his hands. “Jolly good guess, Girl! But only half right,” he turned serious again. “I’m a mad god. _The_ Mad God, actually. It’s a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now you,” he pointed at me again. “You can call me Ann Marie. But _only_ if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your entrails…” he growled. Then grinned. “If not… then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed.”

I grinned like an idiot. “I never thought I’d see the day I would meet you! What a particularly peculiar and interesting thing!” I giggled. “But, since you’re Sheogorath, I suppose the one who asked me to ask you to go home, I suppose that means you should be going back to the Shivering Isles. So, will you go back to the Isles?”  
“A clever one! Haven't seen you around my shrines, and you’re far too sane, too – so you’re one of Hermaeus’, aren't you? No matter, no matter! But that’s the real question, isn't it? Because, honestly, how much time off could a demented-manic Daedra _really_ need? So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave. That’s right! I’m done! Holiday… complete! Time to return to the hum-drum day-to-day! On one condition. _You_ have to find the way out first. Good luck with that,” Sheogorath grinned.

“Sure. What’s the catch, Sheogorath?” I asked, grinning. This would be fun!  
“Ha!” he clapped. “I _do_ love it when the mortals know they’re being manipulated! Makes things infinitely more interesting! Care to take a look around?”

I turned to look around me, taking in the misty air, the three stone arches and the sparse woods. “This is not, I dare say, the Solitude Botanical Gardens. Though this would make for a lovely addition. Have you any idea where you are, where you _truly_ are?”  
“You said the mind of Pelagius the Third, but he’s dead. So I’d guess the mind of an insane, dead Emperor?”  
“Very good! Yes, you're inside the head of dead, homicidally insane Emperor Pelagius the Third! Now, I know what you’re thinking: can I still rely on my swords and my spells and sneaking and all that nonsense? Sure, sure…” he paused waving at the air in front of him. I narrowed my eyes. I definitely could _not_ rely on that here. “Or… you could use…” Sheogorath grinned devilishly. My eyes widened, and I could feel myself getting excited. _Could it be…?_ “The Wabbajack! Huh? Huh? Didn’t see _that_ coming, _DID YOU_?!” Sheogorath shouted, throwing the staff at me.

I barely caught it. I grinned. Laughed. Ah, this would be fun!

 

* * * * * * *

 

What felt like several hours later I returned to Sheogorath, skipping as I swung the Wabbajack. “I’m done! I’ve helped Pelagius fix his mind!” I sang, coming to a stop in front of the table.  
“Did you, now? Hmm, I find ‘fixed’ such a _subjective_ term. I prefer ‘treated’ – it’s far more appropriate, don’t you think? Like one does to a rash, or an arrow to the face,” Sheogorath nodded thoughtfully. I found my head bobbing along in agreement. Then Sheogorath waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, no matter – heartless mortal that you are, you’ve actually succeeded and survived. I am forced to honor my end of the bargain. So congratulations! You’re free to go!”  
“Really?” I asked. I had actually rather enjoyed blasting the Wabbajack at Pelagius’ Confidence, and his Night Terrors, and killing his assassinator with it. Very exciting. But I had no idea how I would leave – I wasn’t even really sure I knew how I got here.  
“I… _have_ been known to change my mind. So… go. Really.” Sheogorath nodded seriously, then stood up and patted himself down. “Pelagius Septim the Third, once the Mad Emperor of Tamriel now so _boringly_ sane. I always _knew_ he had it in him!” the Prince laughed, walking towards the open area between the stone arches and the table. “I suppose it’s back to the Shivering Isles. The trouble Haskill can get himself into while I’m gone simply boggles the mind! Let’s make sure I’m not forgetting anything…. Clothes? Check! Beard? Check! Luggage? Luggage! Now where did I leave me luggage…? Ah! There!”

The madman who had asked me to return his master suddenly appeared, babbling on about ‘happy days and happy times’. Sheogorath hushed him quickly, sending him ahead to the Isles. Then the Daedric Prince changed, and an Imperial woman with honey-brown hair stood where the Prince had been. I gaped. She turned to look at me with startlingly sane green eyes. “As for you, my mortal little minion,” she smiled, hands on her hips. “Feel free to keep the Wabbajack. As a symbol of my…” she sighed heavily, then scowled. “Oh, just take the damn thing! You take care of yourself, now. And should you ever find yourself in New Sheoth, do look me up. We can share a strawberry torte!” she winked. Magic of some sort glowed in her hands as she prepared to send me back to the Blue Palace, and take herself back to the Shivering Isles.  
“You’re Alyna!” I gasped, seeing her face twist in pain from her memories as the world spun around me.

And suddenly I stood inside the Pelagius Wing, exactly where I had been, the sun shining in the same place in the sky. With the Wabbajack in hand.

_I guess this is the mind of madness._


	17. New Year's Festival

This Solän'cae must confess, that all the guards on alert for murder and theft made the Solitude kill quite a challenge – but a pleasant one. Unfortunately, this one could not tease and play with her prey as she did with Nilsine – it had to be quick, silent. And signed, of course! Ah, to see the guards try to hush the news that the Black Paw is in Solitude is just too much for this Solän'cae – I laughed and purred every time I thought of it. it was simply too delicious to ignore! Thanks only to my foresight, I only made my signature before the kill for that kill – if the Black Horse Courier was as popular here in Skyrim, at least three Holds would have exaggerated the rumors and the rest would hear the terrified whispers of these stories.

The capital of Skyrim was busier than Whiterun, bigger than Whiterun, also, but the people, the riches…. Ah, this one’s Delany would have the time of her life here, stealing and pickpocketing from everyone…. There is far too much richness in the people, the shops, and it is shown in the prices. This Solän'cae cannot even afford to buy alchemical supplies, so she took commissions from the perfumer-turn-not-alchemist to make the potions needed to buy my own ingredients for some poisons and potions. Babette would have to teach me some more about it all once I returned to the Sanctuary. That ever-ten-year-old not-cub never fails to impress this Solän'cae with her knowledge about alchemy, herbs, poisons, potions, medicines…. She and Festus are the two I learn the most from, though Festus is far too grumpy and superior in thinking sometimes.

It was along these lines that I thought as I wandered the market stalls, buying a honey nut treat and nibbling on it when I walked into someone. “This one apologizes –”  
“I’m so sorry –”

We stopped and stared at each other. Then the black-maned, dark-blue-eyed Breton smiled. “Solän' _cae_!”  
“Delany!” I grinned back. We laughed, and hugged each other quickly. “How have you been? And what are you doing here in this capital of Skyrim?”  
“Oh, a little this and a little bit of that,” Delany smirked. “I’ve been good! And maybe a little crazy, too. And you, Solän' _cae_?” she laughed.  
“This one has been busy, but it is work this one enjoys doing. Ah, it is truly great to be doing it!” I purred happily. “And now, this one has met you in Solitude! This is even better for this one!”  
“I do agree! Are you staying for the Festival tonight?”  
“I am now, yes. This one hears that a Redguard troupe will be dancing tonight,” I watched as Delany bought herself a sweet as well, and then we wandered the market together.  
She nodded. “Yes! I saw them last night – they also have a fortune-teller with them. I was thinking about asking her to read my fortune,” she winked with a grin.  
This Solän'cae nodded. “This one heard so as well. I hope for fortune bodes well for you. I have no intention of having mine read: I prefer to let the future come as it comes.”  
“You’re not even a little curious?”  
“No. I will find out soon enough. Shall we have lunch?”  
“Yes! The Winking Skeever has great food,” Delany gushed, turning and walking towards the gate.  
“You are staying there as well?” I asked.  
Delany nodded. “Much cheaper than the other inns. What floor are you on?”  
“Third floor, fifth room.”  
“Really?! I’m third floor, first room!”  
“I feel sorry for the innkeeper tonight,” this Solän'cae giggled.  
Delany looked like one who had met the Skooma Cat when she opened the main door to the Winking Skeever. “Me too!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was wonderful to see Solän' _cae_ again after parting in Windhelm – we ordered food and had it brought up to us on the third floor, where we ended up eating cold food and drinking warm mead we spent so much time talking. She told me about joining the Dark Brotherhood, and how she hadn't seen Kharjo since because he had returned to his caravan and probably thought she was dead. I told her to keep an eye on the roads for him. She had merely replied with: “If it is meant to be, my Breton-Delany, then we shall meet again. If not, then it was not meant.”

She must have had a great deal of faith in fate.

Then I was quizzed about everything I had learnt in the College, including my ban. She had laughed at my failed potions, giggled at my many – extremely – successful poisons, paid especial attention to the Destruction spells I had learnt, and started swearing under her breath when I told her about my arrangement with Enthir and how Onmund had gotten me kicked out. I suspected that he had far less to worry about where I was concerned, and far more to lose sleep over if Solän' _cae_ if got a hold of him. I told her about the Thieves Guild, how Sapphire and I were becoming friends, how I distrusted Mercer, and how much better I had gotten with the bow thanks to Niruin. We spoke a little about the Septim tome, and I added my little trip into Pelagius’ mind much to Solän' _cae_ ’s initial confusion. But once I completed my story with the news that Alyna had disappeared into the ‘Strange Door’ back in the very beginning of the Fourth Era, and must have become Sheogorath somehow, she had gone silent.

And then she quietly told of her experience in Morthal, when she had gone looking for Kharjo, and instead ended up clearing out a vampire nest, and was saved by a black-panther Khajiit male who called himself Al'Kardho. She added he had matched the Khajiit legends _and_ my description of the lost hero. We were silent for a while, managing to finish our meal at last. And then Solän' _cae_ had agreed – we needed to find the Blades if we could, and bargain the Septim tome for knowledge about Al'Kardho and the living Septims.

We parted ways briefly to clean up and change into more festive, civilian clothes and met down in the common room. Solän' _cae_ was wearing a proud, smug smirk. “This may not be Skooma,” she whispered in my ear as we pushed our way to the door. “But it is close enough, and not illegal outside of Elsweyr. You will like it, I know,” she purred, pushing a small pouch into my hand. I opened it in the pre-twilight light of Solitude, and found several large, pinkish-white crystals inside. I frowned at Solän' _cae_. She grinned. “It is not powdered down, so it is easier to suck, but this is Moon Sugar, that which we refine into Skooma.” She reached into a pouch of her own and popped a sugar crystal into her mouth, smacking her lips as she sucked on it.

My lips twitched into a grin as I shrugged, and did the same. “Happy New Year, Solän' _cae_ ,” I said, looping my arm around hers and pulling her towards the festivities and the music. Tonight I would fly high on Moon Sugar, I would drink mead and ale and spiced wine until I couldn’t taste the difference any more, and I would dance until I couldn’t stand.

But first, I would have my fortune read.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I stepped out of the Redguard caravan just as the sun disappeared. I was feeling a little strange after that reading – some of what I had been told applied rather directly to the Thieves Guild and not trusting Mercer, but the rest of it…. a new – and _romantic_ – relationship in the future, going through many great changes and having the strength, will and resourcefulness to go through all of it…? None of that made any kind of sense. _Maybe the ‘new romance’ is Marcurio. Or a horse. I always wanted an intelligent, beautiful horse I would trust with my life,_ I sniggered, tripping over my feet when I came close to Solän' _cae_. “Woop!” I gasped, rightening myself quickly. “Haha, that’s embarrassing,” I chuckled. Solän' _cae_ shook her head and grinned at me.  
“How was the reading?”  
“Confusing. I’ll think about it more in the morning. For now, though…” I popped another Moon Sugar crystal in my mouth, “I want to enjoy the night! It’s the last night of this year!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

All around this city the fires were lit, the plazas glowing gold and orange and red, humming with music and dancing and singing. It was a happy night – _is_ a happy, glorious night! Delany and this Solän'cae are having fun, dancing, drinking, eating, flying with the slow-working-now-finished Moon Sugar. Then we made it to another troupe of Redguard dancers – or perhaps we had returned to them? – and the women were dancing to a dark, powerful drum-beat and bell-jingle.

They swayed and shimmied, their hips twisting and arms and wrists coiling…. And then suddenly Delany was pulled into the dancer’s arms, dancing, spinning, twisting…. Just like them, feeling the beat in her blood, her soul. And Solän'cae too, was dancing there with her Delany, her tail a useful addition. This one feels close to falling, spinning, shimmying, dancing, swaying….

 

* * * * * * *

 

All of Solitude was alive with the celebration, so it made no sense to stay inside. Jordis had been thrilled to get out of the house, and I couldn’t keep from laughing when she had blushed, ashamed of her sudden enthusiasm.

That was how I ended up wandering from performer to performer, stall to stall, buying a handful of nuts and dried fruits to keep from fidgeting and looking for a sword hilt to grip. It was almost midnight and the cheer was at its highest. The pounding of drums in a tribal beat and the clapping and cheering of a crowd drew me closer to a Redguard troupe of dancers. They were dressed in long, colorful skirts and striped harem pants, the lower halves of their faces covered with veils and scarves around their arms, spinning and swaying on the platform they had constructed.

 _Mara, Talos, Divines…._ There she was, her long black hair swirling around her smiling face as she danced. _She’s beautiful,_ I thought, watching her move, keeping pace with the troupers. _Who would have thought I would see her again, here, of all places?_ I marveled. Her Khajiit friend was also dancing, but she stepped off the platform just as I tried to stop myself from thinking her name _Delany._ She’d feel me staring by now, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Not yet.

Just as I prepared to turn and walk away, hoping Delany wouldn’t notice, she stopped dancing and looked at me with a surprised look on her face, but just for a moment. Because then she suddenly smiled, and spun around faster and faster, keeping up with the beat of the drum.

Perhaps I’d wait a little longer.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Solän' _cae_ had decided she’d danced enough, the spinning making her too dizzy to keep going. I kept going, loving the feel of the drums, the strange flute-like instrument, the jingling bells on the scarf I had been given…. But then I felt someone looking at me, at my _being_ , who I was. I ignored it, but the feeling stayed, and I stopped, seeking out the person watching me so carefully, so intently. It wasn’t frightening. I stopped, scanning the crowd.

There he stood, watching. Michael, the Imperial soldier who had saved us from Helgen. I smiled at him. Waved. And started spinning to the beat of the music.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“So, what does an Imperial soldier do in Solitude?” I asked, giggling and holding onto Solän' _cae_ for balance.  
Michael gave us both a sidelong glance. “I was stationed in Haafingar after Helgen, so I’ve been reporting to Legate Rikke and General Tullius. Currently, I have a leave of absence. And you two…?”  
“We completed work for two different employers. Now, we are enjoying the New Year!” Solän' _cae_ exclaimed, pulling me around in a drunken spin. We giggled when we crashed into each other.  
“I have déjà vu, you know,” I giggled, trying not to laugh too hard.  
Michael smiled and nodded. “Where are you staying?”  
“The Winking Skeever,” Solän' _cae_ replied.  
“You won’t make it all the way back there like this. My house is closer, you can stay the night.” Michael grabbed my shoulder, steadying me. Solän' _cae_ ’s tail whipped out violently as she tried to balance herself.  
“I think we might have gone a bit too far with festivities the celebrating.” I slapped my forehead. “ _Celebrating_ the _festivities_! Yup. Too far. You know, I’m sure we could make it back to the inn. We’d hate to impose on you, Michael,” I argued, standing still in a quieter street.

Michael pointed to a short flight of stairs, and then further to the right, where a large door to an even larger house stood. I managed not to gape. _How does a_ soldier _manage to buy a_ manor _like this? Because this isn't a house._ “That’s my house. The Winking Skeever is on the other side of Solitude.”  
“Oh,” Solän' _cae_ and I chorused at the same time, giving in. He went ahead of us to unlock the door, and Solän' _cae_ and I carefully walked up the stairs.

“This Solän'cae should consider becoming a soldier if one can afford this kind of luxury on such a salary,” she murmured into my ear. I nodded in agreement. Personalized furniture in mahogany, ebony, yellow wood; rich carpets from Hammerfell and silk tapestries from Alinor lined the walls and floors.

“Thane! You have returned?” a servant girl asked, wide-eyed.  
“Yes. Could you show these two to the guest rooms?”  
“Of course, my Thane. Come, follow me,” she beckoned we follow her up stairs.

I glanced back at Michael uncertainly. He smiled reassuringly, his grey eyes calm and surprisingly warm. “Sleep well. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Solän' _cae_ grabbed my arm and pulled me along. _He’s so kind_ , I thought, touched. I wouldn’t let two drunks and Moon Sugar eaters I didn’t know anywhere close to my house.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Those two had managed to eat a fair bit of Moon Sugar, by the looks of it. Perhaps Sol’ahnshai was more tolerant to it than Delany, but they could barely walk a straight line after everything they had managed to get themselves into last night.

They weren’t even awake yet, and dawn had come and gone almost two hours ago.

So while I waited for them, I packed a bag of provisions for my trip down to Whiterun. Some potions, fruits – dried and fresh – and dried meats; I could buy fresher food at inns or hunt it along the way. My bedroll was lying at the front door, along with the pack containing a change of clothes and blankets. Skyrim is cold even at its warmest.

“I should seriously reconsider last night,” Delany grumbled as she padded down the stairs, barefoot.  
I smiled to myself, busying myself with packing to avoid looking at her. “You’ll grow out of it eventually.”

“Are you saying I’m a child?”

I looked up with a frown, only to see her smiling. She waved away her comment. “I know what you meant. It’s novel and different and until I realize how crappy it actually is, I’ll probably keep going. Truth be told,” she blushed, glancing down with a sheepish grin. “I’m more ashamed that I always seem to be tripping over my own feet whenever we meet, and I’m really grateful that you’ve let us stay here when you don’t know us from a bag of salt.” Delany looked up at me, dead serious.

I nodded, looking away. “It was nothing. Besides, I doubt the two of you are up to no good. It’s just a feeling I have.”  
Delany snorted. “Yeah…. So, where are you off to? I thought you said you had a ‘leave of absence’ or something.”  
“I do; I’m headed to Whiterun. I do some bounty hunting on the side if I get the chance,” I half-lied.  
“Ah! Now _that_ explains the manor and the lavish furnishings!” Delany smirked, nodding. Then her stomach rumbled. She blushed, chuckling bashfully. “Uhm, could I –”  
“Breakfast’s over there,” I jerked my head to kitchen, grinning at Delany while she hurried past, her ears turning red.

“This one wishes a good morning to all. And… hopes everyone slept well,” the Khajiit greeted warily. We glanced at each other, and I nodded in greeting.  
“Solän' _cae_!” Delany greeted brightly. “Bread?”  
“Thank you, please.”

“So, you say you’re headed to Whiterun, Michael?” Delany asked.  
“Whiterun? We all pass through that city to get to where we must be,” Solan’tchai nodded, taking a buttered bun from Delany.  
“Exactly. When do you plan on leaving?”  
“Well, originally my plan was today, but it’s not urgent, so I can wait until you’ve gathered up whatever supplies you need,” I offered.  
Delany and Solahn’shai glanced at each other. “We travel light. All we need to do is gather our things from the Winking Skeever,” Delany explained.  
“This one also needs to pay for stabling and fetch her horse,” the Khajiit added.  
Delany stared. “You have a horse?! When did you get a horse?”  
“Perhaps last month, when I was in Markarth. Perhaps a few days longer than a month, this one is not too sure. I quite like him – steady, level-headed, strong.”  
“Really? What color is he? A stallion or a gelding? What’s his training, his lineage? And –” Delany kept quizzing and babbling excitedly about the horse, while Solahn’shai looked more and more confused.

“Do you have a horse, Delany?” I interrupted, getting a brief, grateful look from Solahn’shai.  
She shook her head. “No. I’ve been spending my money on smithing and alchemy classes, and buying up the materials and ingredients I need for them. A horse hasn’t bothered me up until now, mostly because I get to pick wild ingredients as I travel,” she grinned. “But I suppose I’d need one if I’m going to keep up with you…” she frowned.  
“Don’t worry – I have two. You can ride my mare; she’s easier to handle than my charger.”

Delany looked surprised for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly.  
“So then, my Delany, let us go. We have far to go, and little time to get there,” Solahn’shai grabbed the Breton’s arm and tugged gently. “We will meet you at the stables, Michael.”  
“Aye, at the stables,” I watched them go. I still didn’t trust Solahn’shai: that darkness in her had gotten stronger, and it made me wonder if she was Dark Brotherhood. If she was… Commander Maro would have a hard time eradicating them.

She had great potential to affect the assassin guild’s fate, for better or worse.


	18. Retrieval

  **Chapter 18: Retrieval**

I repacked my bag, tying my bedroll on top, my iron quiver and sword at my hip, my bow unstrung and holstered in the quiver as well. I shouldered my pack, and took the Wabbajack in hand. Solän' _cae_ was waiting outside the inn for me, a slightly smaller bag in her hand, saddlebags slung over her shoulder, quiver and bow on her back and her glass sword at her hip. She cast an approving glance at the Wabbajack, and grinned, motioning with her head to follow just before she started walking.

I followed, using the Wabbajack as a walking stick, grinning broader with every head that turned to stare as I passed, many recognizing the Madgod’s artifact. I suppose I had always been a little crazy, and now I had tangible proof that I was. _Well, I have the Wabbajack – maybe I’ll be able to get the Skeleton Key from Nocturnal later on. The possibilities are endless where the Daedric Princes are involved,_ I thought, following Solän' _cae_ down to the stables where she asked a stable hand to tack up her horse.

Michael was already there waiting for us, standing between two horses. One was a tall, broad black stallion with a quiet look of aggression in his eye, and the other was a milky white mare, with a gentle look and nuzzled Michael’s hand lovingly. She whickered softly when she saw us approach, and pricked her ears when I held out a hand for her to sniff. Then I bent, bringing my face to her muzzle and gently blowing into her nostril. She puffed back eagerly, nuzzling my face. I smiled at her, rubbing her face. “I like her,” I said, wishing I had a treat of some kind to give her.  
“Looks like she like you, too,” Michael agreed, handing her reins to me.  
“This Solän'cae wonders what you just did to that horse. Are you not afraid she will bite?”  
I shook my head. “No – that’s how horses greet each other. I’ve found they seem to trust and like you more when you greet them like that the first time, and then every so often after.” I shrugged. “Besides, the last horse who tried to bite me while I greeted them like that got bitten by me. It was kind of… _instinct_ , I guess,” I laughed, remembering the young paint colt. “Needless to say, he never bit anyone ever again.”

We tied our packs to the horses, and I mounted, pursing my lips as I watched Solän' _cae_ struggle a bit to get on – she had told me once, on our way into Skyrim, that she could ride, but that Khajiit rode a specific, other kind of Khajiit that were like giant tigers, and they tended to crouch down or lie on the sands to make mounting easier.

Horses didn’t do that unless they were trained, and trusted the rider enough to make themselves so vulnerable.

Michael settled into his stallion’s saddle easily, the black horse, fidgeting, eager to set off. Then Solän' _cae_ was on. “Great, let’s go!” I said, lightly squeezing my legs, and using my seat to gently ease the mare into a walk. She obliged easily, and as soon as I picked up a contact with her bit, she rounded her back and neck and settled onto her hindquarters. I glanced back at Michael, impressed. “She’s been trained!” I exclaimed, gently teasing her mouth soft.

The Imperial simply laughed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The three of us arrived in Whiterun two weeks later, and this Solän'cae will admit, it was actually nice to travel in a large group and know that there is little chance of being taken by surprise while sleeping at night. It helps this one sleep a little deeper, more restful. And then there is Delany, knowing so much about horses and teaching mine to come at a whistle. He came every time I called by the time we reached Whiterun – had I known she would know so much, then I would have tried to find her earlier for this.

But, as it is, this Solän'cae now has a trained horse, and was in Whiterun by midday. We left our horses at the stables, and followed Michael into the city. At some stage, we had decided to go on this bounty together, though I think it was more Delany-going-with-Michael and Solän'cae-going-with-Delany. I had yet to come across another Khajiit caravan since Morthal. _Perhaps it is not meant to be after all,_ I thought, smiling at the smell of warm food cooking and fresh loaves baking. “Mmm… this one thinks we should stop for some of that before we talk to the Jarl,” this one purred, tail swishing and whiskers twitching to catch the smell.  
Delany sniffed next to me, sighing happily. “Ah, yes! Definitely – some fresh, warm bread with butter and some cold milk with that…. _That_ is the closest thing to the afterlife on this earth!”

I raised a brow, shaking my head and smiling. “No, what is perfect is a fresh, soft bread with a good, thick, hot soup. Any soup, as long as it is thick and hot.”  
Delany frowned thoughtfully, using her Wabbajack to walk. “I suppose I can see that working – it’s just too hot for soup, though.”  
“It is _never_ too hot for soup in Skyrim!”  
“Only if you live in Dawnstar, Windhelm or Winterhold.”  
“Hmm… Solän'cae will agree to that.”

“What about you, Michael?” Delany asked, calling to the Imperial leading the way through the market place.  
He smiled over his shoulder. “There’s a kind of spicy food the Redguards make with a half loaf. They hollow it out, and fill it with a very spicy meat and sauce, often with vegetables. _That_ is how a fresh bread should be eaten!”

Delany and I glanced at each other. “Spicy food? Do they have that in Skyrim?”  
Michael shook his head. “I doubt it, but some of the Redguard troupes import and sell the spices. Every time I cross paths with them, I buy as much as I can. I’m not the best at making food, but I can manage a few spicy dishes.”

“He cooks! What kind of _man_ cooks?!” Delany whispered excited-incredulous into my ear. I rolled my eyes with a smile. Ah, she is in before-love with this Imperial again – it is a _crush_ , in the common tongue, yes? It makes this one want to tease her about it – but not while he is so close to hear.

We walked up the stairs to the next level of Whiterun, and what I saw next made me horrified-angry-depressed.

The tree of Khenarthi, the Gildergreen, could cover the entire plaza in shade. It did, once.

But now, it did not, because the tree was dead, withering and wilting. Several priestesses of Khenarthi sighed and wept as the last of the dead-skeleton-leaves tore free and fell to the ground. It seemed the entire tree sighed and sagged at the loss of its last-forgotten beauty. It was saddening, truthfully. This Khajiit felt like she had to something for this beautiful tree which had bloomed brightly when I had just arrived here. It was a sign on hope, of good faith that I was meant to be in Skyrim after Helgen, and now, to see it like this….

No. It will not do. It will _not_ do!

“Solän' _cae_! Wait!” Delany called, but would not stop. Not now.

There is too much fury, too much sadness to let this pass. I grabbed a priestess and pulled her up to face me, her water-from-eyes wet face wide now in fear. “You will tell me, you will tell this Solän'cae, why is this holy and sacred tree of Khenarthi disrespected so? Why is it _dead_?!” I hissed, growling at her, in her face.

The priestess could only whimper and cry more. I growled louder, snarling.

“Wait, please, let her go. I remember you, Khajiit. I will explain what I know, and how I believe the Gildergreen might be saved.”  
“Solän' _cae_ , let her go!” Delany called, her face worried as Michael held her arm to keep her away.

I glanced between the priestess who had first spoken to us about Khenarthi’s tree, and Delany and Michael. I snarled. “Fine. This one will see you two later. But this…. This is important. This Solän'cae _cannot_ allow this to remain as is!” I hissed, following the older priestess into the temple, glancing back once at my Breton and her Imperial.

Delany nodded, then straightened and said something to Michael, and they started walking. I could feel his soul-eyes following me into the temple.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“She’s rather passionate about the Gildergreen,” Michael said, casting glances to Solän' _cae_ as she followed an older priestess I thought might be the legendary Danica Pure-Spring into the temple.  
“Yeah – Kynareth or Khenarthi is a very important goddess to the Khajiit. She's their psychopomp, as well as the nature goddess, so she’s especially revered and worshipped. Combine that level of importance to the fact that Solän' _cae_ was born under the sign of the Lover, and you have an exceptionally passionate Khajiit.”

Michael glanced at me for long enough to see his storm-grey eyes clearly. _They’re so soothing_ , I thought absently. “I see,” he nodded, looking away again.  
“Yeah. So, why Whiterun for bounty hunting?”  
“I got a tip that there’s an interesting bounty here, and I thought I’d come down and find out.”  
“Ohh…. And I don’t suppose you’d tell me who gave you that tip?” I asked hopefully, jogging up the first flight of stairs to Dragonsreach.

The Imperial stopped and looked up at me with a smirk. “Of course not.”  
“Damn,” I grinned.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“So, you are telling this Solän'cae, that the only way the to save this tree of Khenarthi, is to go to this place you call Orphan Rock, fight and kill these ‘hag-raven-women’ and their witches, take this knife you say _might_ be there called ‘Nettlebane’, go to Eldergleam Sanctuary, where the mother tree is found, go to the trunk of Khenarthi’s tree, and _cut it_?!” I paced up and down the temple floors, trying hard not to rip out this _priestess’s_ throat with my teeth.  
Danica hesitated, looking torn. “I would go myself, but I am no traveler, and I can only pray to Kyne that she will smile on your efforts. If it is at all possible, do not cut the Eldergleam. But if there is no other choice…. The sap, I believe, is necessary to restore the Gildergreen here in Skyrim. Please, you and I both revere Kyne, Khenarthi, and we would not see her realm harmed. You are the only one who has come forwards to help who is willing and able to take up this noble act.”  
I stopped, and turned to glare-hiss at her. “You can rest assured I will return with the means to save the Gildergreen, _Priestess_.”

Then I left, striding up and into Dragonsreach, just in time to see the Jarl stand, and beckon they follow him. He nodded in greeting when we eye-touched, and I held up a hand, pointing at Delany and Michael. The two turned to look, and Delany smiled, waving. “Are the three of you travelling together, then?” Jarl Balgruuf asked.  
Michael nodded. “Yes, my Jarl.”  
The Nord huffed. “I see. Truth be told, I’d rather the three of you work together on this project, if I correctly understand what needs to be done. Let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into this dragon matter since Helgen. I’ll introduce you three to him. Though, he can be a bit… _difficult_. Mages, you know,” he nodded seriously at Michael. Michael nodded back.

Delany snorted. “We’re not _all_ difficult, and I doubt he’s even a quarter of what Marcurio is,” she muttered to herself.  
“Who is Marcurio?” I whispered to her.  
She stared wide-eyed at me, then smirked mischievously. “An Imperial I met in the College. Didn’t I write about him? Or at least mention him when I told you about the College?”  
“You did not. That is shameful – this Solän'cae has lost an opportunity to tease you.”  
“Thank the Divines and the Daedra for that,” she grinned.

“Farengar!” Balgruuf called, walking into a new room, stacked with parchments and books and old tomes. Delany and I glanced at each other and tried not to squeal in glee – perhaps we could bargain _our_ reward to be time with this Farengar instead! “Farengar! I think I’ve found some people who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill these three in with the details.”

A hooded Nord appeared from a back room just as Delany walked around to an alchemy table. She put her staff to lean against the table, then sniffed the boiling liquid, and frowned at the Nord, pointing at the liquid. “Aren't you overheating this essence of spriggan sap? You _do_ realize it’ll be completely useless in a few seconds, unless you like the way it tastes, in which case I already doubt your judgement and expertise.”

The room was silent. The Nord – possibly Farengar – pushed his hood back, glaring at Delany. “What did you say? I’ve barely begun –” he peered over her shoulder at the alembic. “Oh. You're right. So, you have some knowledge of the alchemical arts, then?”  
“Clearly more than you. You’re Farengar, right?”  
The court mage glared at Delany, removing the heat from the alembic and smoothing his mutton chops. “I am Farengar, yes. And who are you?” he snapped.  
“Farengar, these are the people who are going to _help_ you. As I said, fill them in with the details. This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragon _s_ , if there are more, we need. And quickly, before it is too late.” Jarl Balgruuf warned – more to keep this Nord-mage in check.

Ah, this Solän'cae likes this Jarl-Nord!

“Of course, Jarl Balgruuf. You seem to have found me… _able_ assistants,” he looked all three of us over, with no small glare directed at _my_ Delany. “I’m sure they will prove most useful.”  
“Good. Succeed in this, and Whiterun will be in your debt,” the Jarl said, looking at us three. Then he nodded to Farengar. “I’ll leave you to it.”

We all nodded, and Delany looked smug when Farengar looked over his spriggan sap and clucked his tongue, scowling. “Wipe that grin off your face, Breton,” he snapped.  
This Solän'cae hissed, hand-paw to her sword. Farengar turned, surprised. Michael put a hand on my arm. “Everyone calm down; this is getting out of proportion. We’re here to find out what we need to do, not fight each other over some green goo.”

“‘Green goo’?!” we chorused.

“Wow, Michael.” Delany laughed. “Ok, I’m over it. And relax, Solän' _cae_. I’d hate to see what you’d do to half the people I know now – they’re much more ‘difficult’ than him,” she jerked her chin in Farengar’s direction.  
“I will not tolerate insolence in _my_ lab!”  
“She’ll be quiet from now on – unless she has questions about what we need to do,” Michael cut in, glancing between all of us. Delany nodded, looking innocent. I sighed, letting go of my sword-hilt and moving to stand in front of a marked map of Skyrim, memorizing the places and names.

“Very well,” Farengar nodded, leaning against an enchanting table. “So, the Jarl thinks the three of you can be of use to me. As I’m sure you’ve briefly heard mentioned, I am researching the dragons. I could use someone to fetch something for me, and since you’re in a group, I think you’ll handle it better. Because when I say ‘fetch’, I really delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet.” He paused, shrugging. “Which may, or may _not_ , be there.”

I glanced at Delany. She looked as interested as I did.

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Alright, where are we –”

“So, what does that have to do with the dragons?” I cut across Michael. I wasn’t ‘fetching’ anything for an air-brained court mage if I didn’t know at least _some_ background info. Michael shot me brief exasperated look before glancing away again. Solän' _cae_ nodded, turning back to the conversation.

Farengar offered a half-smile. “Ah, we have at least one thinker – perhaps, a scholar?”  
“You could say that. What’s the story behind the tablet?”  
“You see, when Helgen was destroyed, and you two and that other Imperial soldier came through screaming ‘dragon’, most dismissed these rumors of dragons as fantasies and impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside of his experience as being impossible. Since you carry the Wabbajack – and yes, I recognize that ugly three-faced stick – I’m sure you understand that more than most. But where the dragons are concerned…. I started searching for information about them. Where they came from, where had they gone all those years ago? I cannot begin to tell you about the pains of researching such an old and dismissed topic.”  
“No need. Solän' _cae_ and I know all about that,” I replied bitterly, thinking of the Septim tome. “You tend to come up with far more questions than answers.”

Farengar gave me a long look I returned. “Indeed. It’s extremely frustrating. But, I managed to, ah, _learn_ of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. A ‘Dragonstone’ said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. I need you three to go to Bleak Falls, find the tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and return it to me. Simplicity itself.”  
“Except for the draugr, traps, maze-like corridors and potential bandits and plunderers, yes. Child’s play,” I replied sarcastically. Marcurio had told me about those ruins when he stopped in Riften again a while ago – they were everything _but_ simple to navigate. I pushed off the table I had been leaning against, unfolding my arms and taking the Wabbajack. “We’ll bring back your tablet. Come on, you two – it’s probably too late to travel to Riverwood now, so we need to check in at the Bannered Mare and make sure everything’s set for tomorrow.”


	19. Bleak Falls Barrow and a Living Legend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three POVs? Super dramatic :3c

**Chapter 19: Bleak Falls Barrow and a Living Legend**

Delany knew a surprising amount more about Nordic barrows than I had expected her to know – and so Solahn’shai and I spent the better part of the day questioning her about them while we went through our preparations. Delany made another twenty arrows and used up a fair bit of her money buying the materials to make them.

And blew the rest on poisonous ingredients she crushed, boiled, distilled and did other complex alchemical things to, in order to turn them into powerful poisons. When she walked out of Arcadia’s Cauldron, she reeled from the fumes, stumbling dizzily to a bench where she collapsed and lay down. Even Solahn’shai was furious she had been working in that closed building with such poisonous plants. I pretended not to notice her stalking off to ‘deal with’ the owner and proprietor, Arcadia.

Delany had merely grinned cheekily and said she had been through worse before, and that by morning she would be ‘right as rain’. After a while she sat up unsteadily, but insisted on walking to her room when I offered to carry her. Once she was settled inside, I sent a letter ahead to Delphine saying I was already working with the Jarl.

Solahn’shai and I both checked in on a sleeping Delany, and the Khajiit stayed to sleep in her room to keep an eye on her.

We all turned in early because of that.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Delany looked better in the morning, though she was still pale. Pal _er_ than usual. But she ate well, and generally seemed alright otherwise, so we set out as planned. Solahn’shai and I reached an unspoken agreement to cater first and foremost to the wellbeing of the fiery, hard-headed Breton.

It seemed, though, that she knew what she was doing, because by afternoon, when we reached the bridge crossing the river into Riverwood, Delany was bright and cheery again, pointing out the markers leading to a barrow with barely contained excitement. “Oh, come on – we have enough time to make it up the mountain a ways, and the Jarl _did_ stress it was of utmost and life-or-death importance to retrieve this tablet of Farengar’s,” she reasoned, her head cocked to one side and her brows raised matter-of-factly.

“Your tongue is far too silver and smooth, Delany. This Solän'cae is convinced against her will,” the Khajiit nodded solemnly.  
Delany smirked smugly, then turned a serious look on me. “And you, Michael?”  
I sighed. “There isn't food on the mountain for the horses, so we have to go up on foot. At the very least, we have to leave the horses in Riverwood.”  
“Done. Let’s hand them over to the guards coming our way right now!”

And just like that, she leapt off my mare, the white horse following her happily as she walked up to the Riverwood guards. The mare blocked my view of Delany, but the guards simply nodded and told us our horses would be safe in Riverwood until we returned for them. The Khajiit complied easily, and I followed suit more reluctantly. Delany _was_ good with words, and had a certain charm about her, but even _that_ couldn’t convince guards to take horses and make such promises.

We took our packs and Delany even waved as the two guards led the horses away. Then she turned to the mountain behind me, looping her arm through Solahn’shai’s. “Let’s go!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Perhaps I _shouldn’t_ have bribed those guards to take the horses, but the one had muttered ‘Guild armor’ and I had confessed, offering up a coinpurse I had stolen from Arcadia and a few extra coins that had just been lying lonely in the Bannered Mare. They had easily agreed to take our horses, and while Solän' _cae_ had easily agreed – probably knowing what I had done – Michael had seemed a little suspicious.

But he had obliged anyway, and I was glad we were on our way up to Bleak Falls Barrow. We had a lovely view of the little village of Riverwood from halfway up the mountain where we made camp, and Solän' _cae_ and I would finally find out if there really _were_ bandits hiding out at the top. We hadn't really encountered any problems up until now, but my short scouting trip had confirmed it would probably come from tomorrow or so.

There was a watchtower ahead, and I had no doubt there might be at least two bandits there, judging by how lived-in it seemed.

But we all agreed: that was tomorrow’s problem. We had also quickly settled into our different roles without a fuss. I was the scout and hunter, the eyes and ears of our group because I was best with the bow and magic. Solän' _cae_ would back me up with her speed and agility in a fight, and Michael would pack in the hardest punch what with him stomping around in his heavy armor, a shield slung over his greatsword on his back, and a shortsword at his hip.

Solän' _cae_ and I thought it was a little over-kill.

We took turns with the watch that night, and Masser was the only moon in the sky.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I crouched low, my bow in front of me and arrows in hand. Solän' _cae_ was below me, somewhere, ready to take out the other bandits as they came out. I was perched on a rocky outcrop, scanning the watchtower for any more movement and waiting for Michael to come up the path further below us. _There, that’s the chink of that strange green-blue-gold-grey armor of his!_

I nocked an arrow in my bow, breathing in.

I heard the soft hiss of Conjuration magic below me.

I howled softly, easily mimicking the call of a wolf.

A fiery wolf matched my call, racing forwards to the bandits.

I drew my bow and fired, killing one of the bandits.

The wolf exploded.

Michael raced up the rest of the path, his greatsword in hand and cut through a second bandit with ease.

 _Up there!_ My eyes were drawn up to the movement of an archer from the top of the tower.

I stood, casting Firebolt to distract the archer long enough to get in a perfect killshot.

Michael stalked into the tower, and Solän' _cae_ and I followed quickly.

When we passed under the crumbling stone arch, Michael came down the stairs, sheathing his curved blade, shaking his head. “There’s no-one else here. We’ve cleared it.”  
Solän' _cae_ and I grinned at each other. “Excellent. I’m going to see if they have anything useful, like ingredients, food, potions. Gold,” I said, bounding up the stairs behind Michael.  
“Really? You’re going to _loot_ their corpses?” he called up.  
“Of course! They are dead, they do not need these things anymore,” Solän' _cae_ huffed.

We were on our way again soon after that.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Bleak Falls Barrow was _infested_ with bandits. This Solän'cae and her Delany picked them off with bows and magic until we could not, then we sent in Michael with his stone-armor and kept the worst of the back-stabbers away from him. Then we went inside, killing bandits and solving puzzles realizing that these Nordic barrows were at _least_ as dangerous as Delany had said they would be. Even _she_ admitted they were worse than she had expected, and Marcurio – the one who had told her all about them – had spared no detail about the difficulties of the traps and the puzzles and the maze-like quality of the ruins. There were hundreds of skeevers, and the frostbite spiders were especially bad. We were all grateful for her poisons. She was a rather dangerous woman with alchemy.

It was late, when all three of us were tired and ready to rest – the barrow was larger than we had expected – that we came across the largest spider nest we had seen. Michael tried to cut his way through the web, but when his sword got stuck, Delany and I laughed. “ _That_ , Michael, is why magic is useful when exploring,” she grinned, carefully burning the web away and freeing a glowing-red greatsword.  
“Thanks,” he huffed, obviously still upset about his sword getting stuck.

“Bjorn?”

“Who is that?” this Solän'cae asked.

“Haknir? Soling? Is that you?”

“He sounds stuck,” Delany said.

“I’m sorry I ran ahead!” the man called, pleading. “I shouldn’t have and now I’m stuck! I’m sorry! Cut me down, please?!”

“We can’t leave him there,” Delany started, looking serious. I was about to argue when she held up a hand and shook her head. “Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because he might have some more information about the Dragonstone or the barrow that could help us.”  
Michael gave her a long look for him – which was a normal-length-look. “That’s cold, Delany.”  
She and I shrugged. “Such is the way of life. This Solän'cae has no desire to help a bandit if he no longer serves a purpose to me. Delany thinks similarly, except I doubt she will kill him as I would.”  
“That’s true,” Delany nodded. “I probably wouldn’t kill him if I didn’t have to. So, let’s go free a bandit!”

She walked through the now-open archway. “Oh, thank the Eight! You, cut me down quickly before it comes back!” a Dunmer male called, smiling.  
“Before what comes back?” Delany asked, frowning.

“That,” Michael pointed up.

Delany squealed, backing away to where the dark elf was trapped in a web.

I snarled, summoning my flame atronach. Delany did the same, though her eyes stayed wide. “It’s wounded, so you should be able to kill it quickly! Just keep it away from me!” the elf shouted, squirming in his cocoon.

It was a giant frostbite spider, the largest I had ever seen before. It did seem to be injured somewhat, but perhaps it was like a scratch to the spider. Delany immediately started casting several strong fire and lightning spells at it, swearing as it turned its attention to her. The atronachs attacked it as well, and Michael shouted, screaming his battle-cry and charged the spider. I shot at it with my bow.

We cut it to pieces in seconds. We actually worked well as a team of three, I must confess.

“Is it over? Is it dead?” the dark elf asked, wriggling in the web.  
This one nodded. “It is dead. Who are you?”  
“Arvel the Swift. Cut me down already, will you?”  
“What do you know about the Dragonstone?” Delany asked.

Arvel stopped wriggling, frown-scowling at Delany. “Dragonstone? What is that?”  
“What about the golden claw?” Michael asked.  
Arvel narrowed his eyes at us. “Yes, I have it. I know how it works,” he wriggled some more. “Cut me down and I’ll tell you more.”

Michael sheathed his sword, crossing his arms. I padded closer. I had a feeling about this one…. “Speak first, then we will cut you down. What do you need it for?”  
“Gods, have you _never_ been inside a barrow before?” he snapped. “Fine. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together. Cut me down, and I’ll take you there, show you what I mean. You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden there!”

We glanced at each other. Delany shrugged. “I guess,” Michael started, looking between me and Delany. “We don’t have a choice but to cut Arvel down.”  
“Solän' _cae_?” Delany asked.  
“Of course.”

“Sweet breath of Arkay, _thank you!_ ” Arvel sighed.

We carefully burned away the web, and he wriggled a bit. “I can feel it coming loose! Just a bit more!”

“Yeah, yeah – shut up,” Delany muttered to herself. This Solän'cae couldn’t help but snigger.

But the second he was down, he turned and fled deeper into the barrow, howling with glee. “Did you really think I’d share the treasure?!” he shouted, disappearing.

Delany sighed, crossing her arms even as I hissed – this is what this Khajiiti thought he would do. “Well, that played out well,” Delany shook her head. “And we can’t just chase after him. We don’t know what’s up ahead and I’d rather _he_ runs into a trap than all four of us. We can get what we need from his corpse if we have to.”  
I stared at Delany, then glanced at Michael, wondering if he would challenge this. He was most likely to save that idiot than a thief and an assassin. He sighed, clenching his jaw, then nodded. “As much as I hate to agree, she’s right. Besides, judging by the light coming in from up there, we’re close to twilight. We’ve encountered more problems than we expected, and we need to rest. We’ll head down further, and see where he –”

Arvel screamed, begging for his life, then his screams were cut short.

We froze. “That didn’t sound good,” Delany whispered.  
“We’ll need to deal with that today, whatever it was,” Michael agreed.  
“Then let’s stop wasting time talking and go!” I hissed, taking the lead.

“Wait for me!” Delany hissed, quickly snatching up even more useless pieces to sell, and shoving them in her bag. It was already close to exploding.

We hurried through the passages, finally coming to a horde of draugr, and a torn-apart-Arvel.

“Honor and glory!” Michael roared, raising his sword cutting clean through the first draugr. Then Delany and I sprang into action. She fired her bow and some magic at the draugr, and I ran in with my sword, cutting through two before Delany swore.

I turned to see her duck, then smack the draugr in the face with her bow, a snarl on her face as she charged a lightning spell and threw it at the draugr.

And then they were all _dead_ -dead. Delany grinned, picking up the swords and axes and gold and ingots and other trinkets up and started stuffing them in her pack. I moved to a back corner where Arvel lay, taking his journal and a golden claw. The journal was for Delany – this Solän'cae has no interest in reading another’s thoughts. Michael was wiping his greatsword clean in the middle of the room.

 

* * * * * * *

 

That sword I picked up and forced in was the last straw for my pack – the seams ripped open, slowly at first, then it gave way like the burning beams at Helgen.  
Everything I owned and had looted crashed to the floor, clattering in all directions despite my efforts to catch some. I was too shocked to swear when I saw the Septim Tome tumble about, my eyes wide from fear and angst at the sacrilege of a falling book.  
Then my mouth opened, when it came to rest near Michael, open.

On a page that read ‘Richard Septim, Second of His Name’ in large, bold letters at the top.

Solän' _cae_ and I glanced at each other, and I felt the blood drain from my face. She looked shocked, too, but she recovered faster than me, her eyes growing cold and her jaw setting as she reached for the hilt of her blade.

Michael stared at the book, took a step closer to it, bent at the waist to pick it up, dusting the covers carefully and smoothing a few folded pages. “Well, I’ve been looking for this for a long time.”

He looked up at me, _directly_ at _me,_ his clear grey eyes piercing right through me. I dropped everything I still held, my jaw slack, my eyes even wider than before. “Oh, sweet Divines, you're a _Septim_ ,” I breathed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The pack ripped and screamed like a dying man. This Solän'cae was about to turn and chide her Delany for greed, when the _book_ fell out, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It tumbled, turned, bounced across the barrow floor, pages folding into themselves before falling open at Michael’s feet.

On a title page.

Delany was white as the soft-falling-white-rain, ocean-eyes big as the full moons. We looked at each other. She was terrified, petrified and stuck to the spot like the sticky earth that pulled in those who didn’t know how to walk the dry paths.  
I turned back to glare at the _Imperial_. This Solän'cae would _kill_ him if he dared threaten us. This one’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword.

The Imperial picked up the book, careful, soothing the creased pages. _At least he cares about the book_ , this one admitted. Then he turned a few pages, closing the book, looking back at Delany. _My_ Delany.  
Stared, actually. “Well,” he started, speaking slowly and smoothly. “I’ve been looking for this for a long time.”

Then she went whiter, dropped the things in her arms and hands, faced him and stepped back. She looked amazed, surprised, afraid. This Solän'cae was ready to strike, to kill him for what he was doing to _my_ hairless-one, when she whispered, “Oh, sweet _Divines_ , you're a Septim!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

I turned at the sound of tearing canvas and the crash of loot on the ancient stone floor with something of a fond smile at Delany, sheathing my dai-katana. She had been stuffing that bag of hers from the moment we left our horses with the guards at Riverwood with anything and everything of slight value she could find.  
But my smile froze and faded when I saw a thick tome tumble out. It had a dark, faded red leather cover embossed with gold edgings. It was a volume I recognized even before it landed at my feet, creased pages folded under the weight of the open book.

‘Richard Septim, Second of His Name’ was clearly displayed in bold, large calligraphy, carefully decorated and painted by Blades long dead. This was the first volume of my ancestry, the one that the Blades hadn't managed to salvage in the wake of the Thalmor’s warpath.

I bent to pick up the tome, carefully smoothing out the pages and ignoring the suddenly hostile aura of the Khajiit – Solahn’shai – behind me. I leafed through the book once, then closed it, my mouth twitching in a half-smile I hoped was reassuring.  
I looked up at Delany. She was stock-still, her dark blue eyes wide as she stared at me and swallowed. A wrong move on my part would mean I died at the Khajiit’s hands, or killed her.

Neither were acceptable options.

“Well,” I started slowly, playing for time. “I’ve been looking for this –” I lifted the book slightly “– for a long time.”

Delany stared at me. Solahn’shai shifted behind me. Then Delany dropped everything, her black hair wisping around her eyes and her small mouth gaped in shocked recognition – just as I had hoped. “Oh, sweet Divines, you’re a Septim!” she gasped, falling backwards a step.


	20. Dragonstone

  **Chapter 20: Dragonstone**

A _Septim_ …. A real, _living_ Septim. A descendent of Martin Septim, and – undoubtedly – Alyna. We set up camp in that room, taking up our usual watch turns. Neither of us had spoken a word since Michael had confirmed he was a Septim, and Solän' _cae_ and I laid out our bedrolls close together after a cold dinner of bread and dried meats. Michael was leaning against the wall on the other side of the chamber, keeping an eye on the corridor leading further in.

By our earlier estimates, we’d reach the end by tomorrow afternoon or evening. Solän' _cae_ and I turned in early, and fell asleep easily.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We made our way through the barrow in silence, cutting, electrocuting and shooting our way through the draugr and finally arrived in the Hall of Stories. The carvings seemed to detail some kind of guardian protecting a very special tablet relating to the dragons. Solän' _cae_ and I studied the walls intently, slowly moving through the scenes while Michael worked on the puzzle door with the claw. I had read Arvel’s journal, and shared my findings briefly before we lapsed into silence again.

The soft, cool grating of stone against stone alerted me and Solän'cae that we were moving on. We joined Michael, entering the final chamber in the barrow. According to Marcurio, at least – he told me that every barrow has a Hall of Stories, a puzzle door and claw, and after that was the final chamber, and typically, what he had discovered were ‘Word Walls’. They were walls with strange, scratched symbols in the stone. Many assumed they were random, but some scholars agreed they were part of a lost language. Marcurio especially seemed convinced about that for some or another reason, but had left with his researcher before he could elaborate.

We walked through the door, Michael taking the lead, Solän' _cae_ behind him and to one side, and I was at the very back, on Michael’s other side with my bow in hand. We walked up the stairs to a stone dais with a sarcophagus lying close to this ‘Word Wall’.

Then I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood still, dropping my bow and turned to Michael.

“So if you’re a Septim, how come you aren't Emperor? Surely you’d have all the proof you needed! And why not come out with it? Sure, people would probably question it initially, but they’d rally around you and you could drive out the Thalmor, and stop this no-Talos bullshit! And what about the Blades? Are there any still alive? Is that Delphine woman a Blade? And Al'Kardho? Is he alive? What was his supposed fall? And do you know that Alyna –”  
“ _Delany_!” Solän' _cae_ hissed, rounding on me with a fierce snarl. “You cannot just _ask_ like that!”

I looked at her, feeling shameful. I could even feel the heat rising to my cheeks and ears. I should have been more tactful in asking, but I wasn’t about to back down now. I looked away from her, and forced my gaze back to Michael. He stood with his back to the sarcophagus, his jaw clenched.

“Martin was Uriel’s illegitimate son. His exact history isn't clear. Alyna and Martin fell in love after Al'Kardho enlisted her help to end the Crisis. Because Martin and Alyna were never married, and because her son – the first Richard Septim – was born _after_ Martin became the Avatar of Akatosh, only the Blades recognized the legitimacy of the lineage. The Elder Council was entirely oblivious to it, and spent the time between Uriel’s death and Titus Mede’s rise bickering amongst themselves. Delphine _is_ a member of the Blades, so yes, they did survive. She’s _also_ made increasingly aggressive arguments about claiming the Empire,” he stopped talking, shaking his head with a sad smile. “But I believe it will cause greater strife – where does this Septim come from, and why is he only coming out now? The Septim Dynasty died with Martin, and the Mede Dynasty is just beginning. Trying to restore something that is dead is fruitless. As for Al'Kardho –”

Michael dove out of the way as the sarcophagus burst open, a draugr growling and hissing as it stepped out. I hurled a Firebolt at it, and quickly tried to raise a ward as something came out of its mouth and my spell came hurtling back at me.

I flung myself at the ground, even as Solän'cae hissed and shot her arrows at it. “He has the Dragonstone! _DON’T HARM THE DRAGONSTONE!_ ” I shrieked, rolling to cast a spell as Michael snarled, changing the direction of his greatsword to miss the tablet hanging from the draugr’s belt.

 _Ice magic could harm the tablet, lightning could make him drop it!_ I leapt to my feet, casting a fire rune on the floor. “Bring him to me!” I shouted, grabbing my bow and firing as well. Solän' _cae_ swapped her bow for her sword, casting a flaming familiar which charged the draugr and exploded. It roared, turning to attack Solän' _cae_.

Then Michael charged it from the side, feinting and falling back to me, to my rune.

And then it exploded, the heat and the shockwaves pushing us away. I shielded my face against the heat, landing on the floor again.

But the draugr was dead, and the tablet unscathed. Michael turned back to where I had planted the rune. “ _That_ was dangerous,” he panted, looking at me and offering a small smile.  
I returned the gesture – though I suspected I twitched quite a bit more than he had.

“This Solän'cae is impressed with that spell. Will you teach this one?”  
I nodded. “Sure, yeah.” I stood up, turning to face the Word Wall.

 

* * * * * * *

 

I knelt by the draugr and untied the Dragonstone from his belt, adding it to my pack. Solahn’shai was nearby, wiping her blade and sheathing it, retrieving her arrows as best she could. I presumed some of the arrowheads were shattered or lodged too deeply to remove. “I would never have guessed Delany was so powerful,” I said quietly, hoping to tease some information from the Khajiit. Not only about Delany, but about _her_ views on my heritage. She hadn't said anything except scold Delany for asking.  
Solahn’shai looked up at me, then poked another arrow into her quiver before answering. “For a mage, this is still weak. Only Apprentice still, not yet Adept, or Expert or Master. But yes, she is stronger than I remember her to be. She has learnt much at the College.”  
“So she’s studying there?”  
“Not anymore. There was a… _misunderstanding_ –” Solahn’shai was telling a half-truth “– and she was asked to leave. The rest you must hear from her. It is not my place to tell another’s story.”  
“I see….” I replied. We both turned to the Breton in question as she stared up at the Word Wall. I’d heard about them from Delphine and a few other Nords who had joined the Legion. They dated back to the Merethic Era, and were supposedly constructed before, during, and for a short while after the legendary Dragon War, and were supposed to be extremely powerful. Or, at the very least, those with the talent and will to learn could use the language and become powerful. After the Dragon War, however, the language seemed to pass out of everyday use and it was forgotten.

Delany was staring at the Word Wall rather intently, as though she intended to burn it into her memory. But looking past her at the Wall itself, I felt myself drawn to it as well.

A specific word, even, if that’s what it could be called. I stepped past Delany to trace the shapes of the scratch marks. _Fus_.

“– hey, did you hear me?”

I turned to face Delany, her hands on her hips. “No,” I shook my head. “My apologies. What did you say?”  
She nodded at the Wall. “You can read at least some of it, can’t you?”  
I frowned, about to disagree when I looked back at _Fus_. “I suppose so…. At least, this word means something,” I tapped it.  
“Perhaps it would be a good idea to go see the Greybeards the Nords respect so much, yes?” Solahn’shai came to stand in front of the Wall as well.  
“Perhaps, yes,” I agreed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Delany raced down a side passage before this Solän'cae could stop her, but when she came back, excited-tired-panting, she said it was another exit, but far south from where we had entered. Or that was how it seemed to her, anyway. This one thinks my Delany underestimates her sense of direction, sometimes. We go back all the way we came, going faster because there is nothing now to fight, kill or hide from. Michael tries his best to answer more of Delany’s questions about the Septims, and I listen, taking in the information this Imperial gives out so freely.

“It is said that the Dragonborn Emperors of the Third Era could see into the hearts and souls of lesser men. Is that why you do not look directly at someone, and why it feels like you know this Solän'cae better than she knows herself? Is it also how you know whether to trust us or not?” I finally ask, once we reach the first chamber in the barrow. A guess would say it is about… ah, well, it is not yet dark but the light is dimmer so perhaps it was late afternoon.  
Michael nodded. “That’s true. A lot of people are uncomfortable with the feeling of having their soul laid bare like that, and if people were to put the pieces together and call me out, I’d have a difficult time keeping it quiet. The Nords want a hero, and the Empire needs to stay intact. It’s one thing to be Dragonborn, and another to claim the Empire’s throne. To answer your second question, yes, it’s how I know I can trust both of you. You both value knowledge and history, and also have your fair share of secrets to keep, some of which are tied to my heritage.” Michael stopped at a glowing-ember fire. “Do you two want to see how far down the mountain we can go today?”  
Delany and I nodded. “The sooner we get down, the better. We can camp along the road. In fact…” she stopped to think, looking up at the cracks letting in daylight. “If we hurry it up, we might make it to that watchtower by nightfall, which would be perfect.”  
This Khajiit swished her tail and nodded. “Yes. I agree. Let’s go!”

The Imperial nodded and took the lead again, trudging through the snow once we were outside. “How did you manage to get that tome, anyway?” Michael asked over his shoulder.  
“We broke into Cloud Ruler Temple, and rummaged through the ruins. I found the tome in a part of the building that probably belonged to Martin Septim back in the day, stuck under roof beams and torn-up floorboards. It looked like the floor had been made to lift out, because the book would have been in a much worse condition if it had merely lain _on_ the floorboards instead of _under_ them,” Delany replied. She glanced at me when I sighed, then grinned. “What? He’s a Septim: he’ll know if we lie to him. Might as well be honest about how we got it.”  
“Ai, Delany, you are a strange one,” this one shook her head with a smile. “But why is it with you, in your pack?”  
“I was about to ask the same thing,” Michael nodded.

“Well…” Delany started. “While I trust most of my new guild-mates, I don’t trust my Guildmaster. There’s something totally off about him, so I keep the tome with me at all times, or if I’m staying in the guild quarters, I keep it locked in my chest which I’ve booby-trapped to the extreme with spells. I’m surprised I haven't blown myself up with it, to be honest,” she laughed nervously.  
“Why do you need to trap something that’s locked? Doesn’t your guild have rules about theft from members?”

“Yeah… I suppose you could say that, Michael, but….” Delany sighed. “My Guildmaster is a genius with locks, and even the most complex of ancient Dwemer – never mind ancient Nord – puzzle-locks are easy for him to open. True, I don’t think he’ll steal from me, but we don’t exactly get along and I’m not willing to risk something so precious by putting my faith in someone that makes my hair stand up just by walking by.”  
“Are there not other members to speak to about this?” I ask my Delany. This is troubling to this Khajiiti – none should make her worry so!  
“Yeah, there are – but I don’t have proof of anything, and being the newest member, I’m not looking to make any more waves than I already have simply by joining…” she frowned, thinking for a moment, then she grinned brightly. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough!”

“I hope you do,” Michael murmured from the front. This one agrees.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We were down by the bridge leading into Riverwood by midday. We had managed to make it to the watchtower as I had hoped we might, and the three of us were pleased to have the barrow behind us. Well, maybe I was the only one who was pleased, but we were all grateful for the proper beds and warm food we would get tonight!

Solän' _cae_ hadn’t said much about the whole Michael-is-a-Septim revelation, but I could tell she had soaked up the answers to all the questions I had asked. I only remembered once we stepped onto the bridge that I hadn't asked about Al’Kardho. “Say, Michael, before we were attacked by that draugr, you were about to tell us about –”  
“Al'Kardho,” Solän' _cae_ and I chorused.

Michael looked at both of us. “You’re right, I _was_ about to talk about him. But,” he held up his hands, then pressed them together. “If I could ask you two to be patient a little longer, I’d rather we spoke about this once we’re safe inside the Sleeping Giant. Delphine has some private rooms we’ll be staying in where I can sate your curiosity a little more,” he smiled.

_Don’t grin like an idiot; don’t grin like an idiot…. Divines, he’s got a smile to knock me flat!_

Solän' _cae_ and I exchanged a glance, then nodded. “Fine. We’ll talk more then.”  
Michael nodded, and we walked down the main road through Riverwood. “Do you still have the golden claw, Delany?” Michael asked.  
“Yeah, do you want it?”  
“I’d like to talk to Lucan – I think he had one like that in his shop, once.”  
“Oh. Here,” I handed the claw to Michael, and he nodded his thanks before striding to the shop. “Check into the inn so long – I’ll be there soon!”

I gave him a thumbs-up and waited for him to disappear into the building.

As soon as he was gone a grin exploded on my face, and I blushed when Solän' _cae_ shook her head at me with a cheeky grin. “Love-struck kitten,” she teased, and we laughed.  
“You know, for once I think there’s some validity to that statement!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

We didn’t find anyone in the Sleeping Giant except for the barman and a serving girl, so we put in orders for drinks and lunch. Delphine came up from the basement just after we sat down at a long table, offering us a stiff smile before fretting at the counter. Our drinks just arrived when Michael walked in, looking pleased with himself when he sat down across from me. “Lucan told me this claw had been stolen about a week ago or so, and had been putting out a reward on anyone who found and retrieved it. It’s fair that we split the reward for it,” he pushed two coinpurses at us.  
Solän' _cae_ and I smiled, pulling them closer. A quick glance suggested about a hundred septims were inside, and we quickly stashed it in our packs. We thanked him, but the relatively good cheer didn’t last very long.

“So, you’re finally in Riverwood, huh?” Delphine asked, setting down our food. Michael hadn't even had the chance to order anything and this woman was already hostile. Sure, she was hiding it fairly well, but it was still there, under her too-cheerful voice.  
“Yes. We just came back from Bleak Falls Barrow, in fact,” Michael motioned between the three of us. I offered Delphine a quick smile. “I’ll have my usual, Delphine.”  
“Oh, I see. And how did your horses get here before you?”  
“Some guards were kind enough to bring them to the stables,” Michael returned coolly, leaning back into his chair.

 _This woman has no concept of self-restraint._ “Hey, today’s the thirteenth, right?” I asked Solän' _cae_.  
She nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. I laughed. “Ha! Well, lucky me! It’s my birthday today, then!”

Everyone at the table turned to stare at me, the tension building between Michael and Delphine gone for the moment. _Maybe deflection like this wasn’t such a great idea…._ I could feel a blush threatening to rise. Then Solän' _cae_ hugged me from her seat, her ears flattening against her skull as she purred. “Happy birthday, then, Delany! Why didn’t you say so sooner?”  
“I forgot today was the thirteenth of Morning Star, truth be told!”  
“You forget your own birthday?” she asked, clucking her tongue at me. “Seems typical enough of you.”  
“That’s true!” I chuckled, taking a sip of my Nord mead.  
“Happy birthday, Delany,” Michael said, offering me a small smile. I just nodded, and Delphine disappeared. “You’re as good at reading people as I am seeing them,” Michael added quietly.  
“Yeah…. I’m not interested in a public argument,” I pursed my lips at my tankard.

“So, how old are you today, Delany?” Solän' _cae_ asked, masking her irritation quite well – except for her flickering ears and twitching whiskers.  
“Uhm… nineteen? Yes! Nineteen today!” I grinned, then blushed when Solän' _cae_ and Michael burst out laughing.  
“Not only do you forget your own birthday, then,” Michael started, grinning and thanking the serving girl when she brought his food and drink.  
“But you forget how _old_ you are?” Solän' _cae_ finished, still chortling.  
“Shoosh,” I giggled. “I can’t help it – another year, another number. I seriously lack a sense of time with something like this! Besides, I have far more interesting things to worry about than how old I am.”  
“Oh, I’m sure – like adventuring into Nordic barrows, and getting lost in some historic tome, and ingredient hunting for alchemy and such,” Michael waved his tankard, speaking with a mock-serious attitude.  
I clinked my tankard to his. “Exactly! Finally, someone who understands!”

We laughed again, and Solän' _cae_ toasted to my birthday. The sudden influx of attention at the mention of my birthday was something I hadn't quite expected, but it was a pleasant change to my usual I’ll-buy-myself-a-sweetroll-and-take-the-day-off-thieving.

The best part of it all was, Delphine didn’t come back to the table for the rest of the time we were there.


	21. Mirmulnir

**Chapter 21: Mirmulnir**

Delphine and Michael spent some time fighting later in the night, and this Solän'cae has no doubt that even her Delany heard them. This one's curiosity was too great to stay away, and so I had crept closer to listen to what they were fighting about.

Apparently it was about how much this Solän'cae and her Delany _really_ knew about the Septims and the Dragonborn and who Michael really was. Even on this side of the door, I could almost _feel_ the anger rising from the Septim at the insolence of this woman. She is a Blade, a protector of the Dragonborn and the Septim emperors, who is she to tell him what he should and shouldn't do? But I do not wish to be caught with an ear to the door, so I leave before the argument ends. Perhaps it is a good idea that Delany does not know of this, and give herself another reason to dislike this Delphine woman.

But aside from all that, Michael had managed to confirm what we knew about Al'Kardho, and added that he occasionally came to the Blades still, some two-hundred years after he had been declared an enemy of the citizens. Michael said that the last time he had heard of the Khajiit, the tomcat had visited Michael's great-grandfather before the old man had died in his bed. Michael said that he had been but a young cub, and only really remembered the black fur, the golden eyes, and the Khajiit braids and dreads with golden chains braided and twisted into the ends. Michal added that the Khajiit had seemed kind, but was, in the eyes of a cub, 'somewhat frightening'. Michael then added that he believed that it was possible that the Khajiit Champion was most likely a vampire, but could not say for sure.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We rode for Whiterun after a fairly calm morning and breakfast. If this Solän'cae hadn't known about last night’s fight, she would never have guessed the Imperial was up so late. The innkeeper woman was also gone, for which this one thinks all three of us are grateful for. She irritates this Solän'cae with her flare for inappropriateness. _Ah, speaking of – Astrid will be furious that I have been gone so long. This one has no doubt that I will have to investigate the madman-merryman Cicero. Ah, it is unfortunate. Perhaps he and I should kill her together…._

But such thoughts I can only entertain so long in the presence of one who is of the old Septim blood. They know, see, too much. And Delany is still happy from her birthday yesterday, so this one is not yet willing to break that joy and take it from my Delany. It would be cruel, and something I would never, _ever_ want to do.

And as this one’s thoughts turn and wander, Whiterun comes into view in the afternoon. We leave our horses at the stables, and make our way up and into the city. The sight of the Gildergreen makes me hiss, and Delany touched my shoulder, offering a comforting smile. “You’ll be able to save the Gildergreen soon, Solän' _cae_ – I know you want to see this through to the end, but you don’t have to if you feel the Gildergreen is more important,” she smiled, her eyes growing sad when she looked at the tree.  
I smiled at her. “This one knows. But it is true, I will see this through. I cannot start something and not finish it.”  
“I thought you’d say that,” Delany looped her arm through mine. “Well, let’s see what Farengar has to say about this Dragonstone!”

I pretended not to notice the Imperial cast a backwards smile at Delany’s enthusiasm. This Solän'cae still doesn’t fully trust him.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The three of us walked straight through the palace at Dragonsreach and walked straight to Farengar Secret-Fire’s laboratory. Before we entered, I could already hear him speaking to another. “Do you see? The terminology is _clearly_ First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced that this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps,” Farengar’s voice rose a little in excitement, “dating to just after the Dragon War! If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts.”  
“Good, I’m glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers,” a woman replied.

Who is this, speaking to Farengar? Are there others involved who could mean trouble? This Solän'cae will not tolerate being used….

“Oh, have no fear – the Jarl _himself_ has finally taken an interest, so I’m able to devote most of my time to this research now,” Farengar chuckled.

Ah, this one wants to get closer, and see who it is that this mage is talking to.

“Time is running, Farengar. Don’t forget – this isn't some theoretical question. Dragons _have_ come back,” the woman warned. Her voice is… familiar?  
“Yes, yes,” Farengar unfolded one hand from his chest, waving it impatiently at the hooded, cloaked woman leaning over a book on the desk. The mage leaned against a table and didn’t really notice us come closer. “Don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable…. Very intriguing, indeed. Now, let me show you something else I found, something your employers might be interested in as well….” Farengar straightened, turning away just as the woman looked up.

But the shadows in her hood were too thick, too dark to be natural. _She either knows illusion magic or she has an enchanted cloak,_ I sighed.

“Farengar, you have visitors,” she said, standing up straight. Farengar turned around to stare at the three of us, now inside his lab.

“Hm? Oh! Yes, the Jarl’s three protégés! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow, then? And you’re all alive?”  
“We’re not cage-bound lab-skeevers like you, Farengar,” Delany crossed her arms, pouting angrily at him.

“Delany!” I hissed, and Michael pleaded.

She glanced at both of us and shrugged. “I don’t have time for his superior attitude. And who is that?”  
“My _associate_ ,” Farengar snapped. “Now, do you have the Dragonstone or not?”

“We do, yes.” Michael pulled out the stone tablet, and carefully placed it on the table.  
“Ah, yes! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! It seems you three _are_ a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. My, ah, _associate_ here will be pleased about your handiwork, I am sure. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me…” Farengar finished, pursing his lips. He seems disappointed that he does not know how it was found. _Good – that is what he deserves for being rude to my Delany!_

Farengar said something to the woman, and she said something to us, and something else to Farengar and then left. I was more interested in the map, again. It seemed to have been updated to include a few other locations. “What are these places?” I asked, pointing at them.

Michael and Farengar answered at the same time. “Soldier camps.”

“Soldier camps? Of the Stormcloaks or Imperials?” Delany asked.  
“Some I recognize as Imperial camps, others are definitely Stormcloak. Why are they listed here?”  
“The Jarl has asked me to keep an eye on obvious troop movements so we can better defend the city. Most of those are based on rumor, though,” Farengar shrugged.

“Farengar!”

We turned to see the Dark Elf – Irileth, yes? – race in.

“What is it?”  
“The Jarl requests your presence, immediately. Since the three of you are here, I suppose it’s best you join us as well. Follow me, if you will,” the Housecarl-she-Dunmer motioned with her hand once, quickly, then turned and strode out. This Solän'cae is wary-interested: what is so important that a thief, an assassin, and a Dragonborn is needed by the Jarl, along with his court mage?

But we all followed her out of the court-mage’s lab, down a passage to the side of the Jarl’s throne, up the stairs to an area behind the main hall. There stood this Jarl Balgruuf, and he tried to calm an out-of-breath guard. Perhaps if this Nord would be so clever as to take off his helm, he might breathe easier….

“Steady, son. It’s alright, take your time,” Balgruuf nodded, glancing at us, Irileth and Farengar.  
The guard nodded, then took off his helm. _Ah, perhaps he is half-intelligent,_ this Solän'cae thought. Blonde, blue-eyes, beard…. Typical Nord.

“So, Irileth tells me you come from the Western Watchtower?” Jarl Balgruuf asked.  
The Nord nodded. Then Irileth stepped in. “Tell him what you told me. About the dragon,” she added impatiently when the guard looked half-confused.

But he nodded quickly, and turned to face all of us, perhaps a little nervously. “Uh, that’s right, uh…. We-we saw it coming from the south. It was fast!” he gasped. “Faster than anything I’ve ever seen!”  
“What did it do? Is it attacking the Watchtower?”

Ah, this Solän'cae likes this Jarl – quietly forceful. He will continue to have this one’s respect.

“No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life…. I thought it would come after me for sure!”

I glanced at Delany, to see her clenching her jaw. But her eyes were steeled – we both knew how terrifying that dragon is.

“Good work, son. We’ll take it from here, so you –”  
“What did the dragon look like? Pardon my interruption, Jarl Balgruuf,” Michael spoke up.  
“What does it matter?” Farengar sighed.  
“It’s important to determine if it’s the same dragon from Helgen, or another one. What did the dragon look like?”  
“I-I don’t remember, sir. I don’t think I really saw it – it was too fast, and it flew too high to see clearly.”  
Balgruuf narrowed his eyes at Michael, but nodded. “It’s alright. Go down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it,” the Jarl smiled, and clapped the man on the shoulder. As soon as he was down the stairs, Irileth spoke. “I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate, Jarl Balgruuf.”  
“Good. Don’t fail me, Irileth.”  
“You three,” he turned to us for the first time. “There’s unfortunately no time to stand on ceremony. I have not forgotten your service to me and Farengar for retrieving the Dragonstone, but rewards for that will have to wait for now. I need your help again. I want you three to go with Irileth and help her fight this… _dragon_ ,” he hissed. “You survived Helgen, and you will know if this is the same one, or another. It also means you have more experience with dragons than the rest of us.”  
“The dragon that attacked Helgen couldn’t be harmed. If it’s the same black dragon, we can only hope that it leaves soon,” Delany murmured.  
Irileth stared at us. “That’s encouraging. Is it true?”  
Michael nodded. “It seemed that way, yes. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to know what it looked like – if it’s the same one, we’ll need to do some research on dragons. If, by some misfortune, it’s a second dragon, we can safely assume that many more will be returning to Skyrim in a very short amount of time. It might also mean, that _if_ this is a different dragon, it could be killed or seriously wounded.”

The Jarl nodded. “Alright. And know this: this _isn't_ a death or glory mission! We need to know what we’re dealing with!”  
“Fear not, my lord – I am the very soul of caution,” Irileth replied easily, fisting a hand over her chest.  
“If this is the case with the dragons, I should go with –”  
“No!” Jarl Balgruuf snapped, pointing at Farengar. “I cannot afford to lose you both! I need you to stay here and work on ways to defend the city from dragons.”  
“As you command,” Farengar returned, though this Khajiit thought he sounded a little sulky.

“Well, let’s go fight a dragon!” Delany threw a fist into the air with a dark look on her face. Both of us knew well what a dragon could do to a village, never mind a single, pitiful Watchtower. Michael seemed the most outwardly calm, but then, I cannot read the Dragonborn as well as Delany nor see him as well as he sees others. Perhaps he feels the same as us, perhaps he does not.

Time shall soon tell. I almost hope that this dragon is the same one as in Helgen – it means the threat is restricted to just one.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We followed Irileth and her contingent of thirty men to the Western Watchtower on foot – it wasn’t that far, and none of us were willing to risk losing our horses just for the sake of travel ease. Besides, I was riding Michael’s mare, and I had no idea how she would react to combat, never mind a fire-breathing, giant flying lizard.

Ok, they’re a little more than flying lizards, but still – dragons were no joke. I liked my odds on foot if I had to fight the dragon. I preferred my odds on horseback to _flee_ the dragon. But… if there was a chance it could be killed, then I would be here to help as best I could. Solän' _cae_ looked half-excited at the idea of facing a dragon again – probably because it was by _choice_ , and not a random ambush attack as it had been in Helgen. I took a deep breath and steeled myself: I would do this. If we could get rid of a dragon… that would ease a lot of Skyrim’s strain, what with the civil war that was slowly gaining momentum.

Irileth stopped us behind some boulders, crouching down. Her men scattered around the others dotting the landscape. In front of us was a burned-out, wrecked tower. I frowned, squinting at it. _Was that the Western Watchtower? Wasn’t it_ whole _the last time we were in Whiterun…?_ I shook my head; now wasn’t the time to get distracted. I glanced up at the sky, scanning it for movement. _Nothing yet._

Solän' _cae_ was crouched next to me, and touched my shoulder. “This one hears Irileth say that this tower is the Western Watchtower, and that we had best be careful in our approach, and search for survivors.”  
I nodded. “Let’s go! We’re looking for survivors,” I called out to the guards around us. “Spread the word! Be careful!”

We spread out a little more, and rand for the tower. I had my bow in my left, and a Destruction spell at the ready in my right hand. Solän' _cae_ had a Conjuration spell at the ready, judging by the magicka residue, and had yet to take out her bow. She hadn't struck me as the mage-type when we were travelling, but it almost made more sense than for her to be an archer or swordswoman.

“What are you doing here?! GET BACK! _IT’S STILL HERE!!”_

I stopped, loose pebbles and mortar crumbling under my feet. I stared at the guard at the top of the walkway I was running up, taking in the wild fear and panic in his eyes. “What?” I stuttered, blinking.  
“THERE IT IS!”

I turned to a voice shouting behind me. The roar made me look to the sky.

“Sweet Dibella…” I breathed. It _was_ fast.

I ducked down behind a wall as searing heat and fire rained down. The guard who had been standing above me in the tower screamed, and when I turned to look, I saw him flailing and on fire. “Ah, _shit_ ,” I swore. On the other side of the wall I crouched behind, Solän' _cae_ and a few others were pulling the injured out of the way. The dragon roared, easily turning and soaring back to the tower. I’d be the next one on fire if I stayed where I was.

I bolted for the tower. Another roar came with a sudden gust of wind, and I dove into the shelter of the tower, my bow clattering to one side as I rolled. I collided with an overturned table, and sat up, breathing hard. Outside, I heard the frenzied shouts of Whiterun guards trying to regain order and attack the dragon. _Bow, I need a bow,_ I searched for my battered weapon, and retrieved it from the wall next to the tower’s entrance. _Stairs. Height. I can shoot better from higher up!_

I slung my bow and raced up the stairs, using my hands to keep going whenever I slipped. _Not far now, almost at the top…!_

I ran around the burning debris of the trap door, appearing on the very roof of the tower. I ran over to the side, where I could hear Irileth urgently shouting orders to her men to take up bows and shoot. She paced, swinging her sword angrily. It didn’t look like there were any more bows. Michael was nearby, looking just as frustrated. I backed away from the edge: Solän' _cae_ was probably down there somewhere, too. I looked to the skies, ducking just in time to avoid the dragon’s wing tips as the rushed over the tower. _Where do I shoot? Does it have weak points?_ I stared at the dragon, still crouching.

Then I suddenly realized: this wasn’t the same dragon as the one from Helgen. This one was greenish, with smoother scales than the black dragon. “Ok, ok! There’s more than one dragon in Skyrim now,” I breathed, unslinging my bow and checking on my poisons. I still had a few potent ones I could use. I pulled out all my arrows, and doused the tips with a general poison.

The dragon was circling overhead now, breathing fire down on the people below and roaring. _Come on, a weak spot, a weak spot…._ All I could think of was where the wings joined the body, the throat, the eyes…. _The wing membranes!_

I nocked an arrow and drew my bow, standing up and turning as the dragon turned. It seemed to slow down, as though it _enjoyed_ toying with the people fighting it. It didn’t seem to know I was up here yet, though. I released the arrow, and it whistled through the air, right through the dragon’s wing.

It screeched, its flight path changing to the north instead of to the people on the ground below. I nocked another arrow, and fired again.

But I missed as the dragon tucked its wings, diving down.

“IT’S COMING!” someone screamed below.

The dragon flared its wings, beating them heavily as it reared back. Its throat started glowing.

I fired another arrow into its wings, satisfied when the fire spewed out into the air with an ear-splitting shriek. I dropped my bow, covering my ears. A heavy thudding started up, and I assumed it was rising again.

And it was coming for me.

 _Ice Spike, I need to cast Ice Spike!_ I charged the spell using both hands. I flung it at the dragon’s wings, and scrambled for traction to get out of the way of its fire. But it screamed again, only some of the fire catching on my boot before it crashed into the tower, taking out the parapets on the top even as I tumbled down the stairs. I came to a winded halt on a landing, my back, legs, arms burning in protest from the tumble. But the heel of my right boot was still on fire. I charged my Frostbite spell, and cast it on the heel of my boot. _I need to learn Alteration magic!_ I thought, glad that the fire was out, but my heel felt a little numb where the frost magic reached my socks through holes in the leather.

Apparently even boiled-leather boots can only withstand so much. I glanced back up the stairway: the dark liquids dripping down and the shards of glass in my palms suggested I had just lost all my poisons in the fall. My magicka was weakening, but I had enough for one attempt at Fast Healing…. I plucked out the glass shards quickly, and cast the healing spell. It wouldn’t completely remove the effects of my poisons, but it would make a difference. I leaned against the wall, feeling the warm, soothing glow of Restoration magic surge through me. I felt better, but I wasn’t sure how well I’d fare against a dragon. _I have to get down there anyway,_ I pushed up against the wall, and hurried down to the ground.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Delany had been up on the roof of the tower, shooting the dragon’s wings to give us an advantage. Solahn’shai was an accurate shot with the bow, but many of her arrows seemed to glance off the dragon’s scales. I was left watching on the ground, my katana and dai-katana useless against an aerial enemy. All I could do was watch when the dragon lifted again, turning to attack the steadfast little Breton at the very top. Ice magic ripped through the dragon’s wing, leaving a damaging hole in the membrane.

But momentum carried the beast further, and his fire was already racing to the roof of the tower, and only Solahn’shai’s arrow seemed to be the last straw to force the dragon to crash. But he tore through the parapets, crashing down and flailing to the ground.

It wasn’t a victory yet. “Together! Now’s our chance! FOR _WHITERUN_!!” I shouted, raising my dai-katana above my head.

“To arms, men!” Irileth shouted next to me, raising her sword as well.

The handful of guards left standing snapped around to stare at us, then they cheered, drawing their swords and following me and Irileth as we led the charge to the dragon.

One of his wings looked broken, and he was beginning to roll upright and away from the tower. Solahn’shai hissed and raced up from a side, passing me even as she sent her fire-wolf to the dragon. It only seemed to irritate the beast.

“Fire magic might not work! It _breathes_ fire!” Irileth shouted.

But the dragon was upright, and turned its head to face us, snarling.

“Watch out for the front!” someone called from behind.

The dragon lunged forwards, snapping at a Whiterun guard in front of me, catching the man’s armor. The dragon pulled back, throwing his head up even as he tossed the screaming guard.

I charged closer.

The man flew up, flailing wildly.

I gripped my dai-katana with both hands.

The dragon opened his maw. I raised my dai-katana above my head.

And the dragon’s jaw snapped shut, the Whiterun City guard’s screams cut short as he vanished into the dragon’s throat.

I hacked into the dragon’s neck above his wings. Pulled down hard, cutting through thick scales and touch flesh.

Felt warm blood spray out as my dai-katana slowly eased out of the dragon. Snarled as he screamed in pain and fury.

_“MICHAAEEELL!!”_

_Is this it, then? I’m… disappointed…._ The dragon turned his head to snap at me. My dai-katana wasn’t free yet. An icy spear whistled by my face, striking the dragon in the eye. He howled at the sky. Whiterun guards hacked at the rest of him. Solahn’shai snarled at me from the other side of the dragon. “The neck! The soft under-jaw! _KILL IT!!_ ”

I let go of my dai-katana, running to the dragon’s throat. _She’s right! The scales are softer here!_ I drew my katana, and as the dragon brought his head down, I shoved my sword up, piercing the softer flesh with ease.

“ _Dovahkiin! Nid!_ ”

My katana was sheathed in the dragon’s throat, the sudden dead-weight driving me to my knees. “Talos,” I breathed, struggling to move the beast’s head.

“Michael! It’s _on FIRE!_ ”

“Delany!” Solahn’shai cried, followed by the tumble and crash of someone falling. But it didn’t have time to look – the dragon’s neck just lit up, the scales igniting spontaneously, the fire spreading up to his head. _No, it’s_ mine! _It belongs to me!_ I snarled, pulling something from the dragon to me.

I sucked in air when something slammed into me, filling me with memories, knowledge…. _Fus_. Force.

Then it was over, the weight of the dragon gone, my dai-katana falling to the ground, the katana in my hand free.

“You…. You’re _Dragonborn_ , aren't you?” a Whiterun guard whispered behind me.


	22. Dov-ah-KIIN! (or, the Greybeards)

  **Chapter 22: Dov-ah-KIIN! (or, the Greybeards)**

“You…. You’re _Dragonborn_ , aren't you?” a Whiterun guard whispered behind me.

I dropped my arm, letting my katana roll out of my hand as I turned to face the few men left standing behind me. I panted, sitting down on the grass. I started to nod, then stopped myself. “How many –”  
“If you’re really Dragonborn, you should be able to Shout!”  
“Try it!”  
“Have you tried to Shout before?”  
“Like the Greybeards up on their mountain?”

“Enough! We have wounded to tend to!” Irileth shouted, waving them away. She looked as bad as I felt, with a long, deep gash in her arm. The Whiterun men dispersed quickly, organizing themselves quickly into teams to find and tend to their injured and dead. “Are you alright?”  
I nodded. “You’re worse off than I am. You should let someone tourniquet that for you before you bleed out,” I pointed at her arm.  
Irileth glanced at it disdainfully, then cast a healing spell. “It’s not much, but it will do for now,” she narrowed her eyes at the remainders of the dragon skeleton behind me. “At least we now know we can kill it. Despite it being a stubborn bastard, intent on killing even when it dies.”

I laughed hollowly. “You can say that again.” I stood, taking up my weapons and wiping them on the grass before sheathing them. Behind Irileth, Solahn’shai knelt beside Delany, slowly helping the Breton stand.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae had been a little excited to know that it was indeed a different dragon to the first – but it meant there would be others as well. The fight had been long, and difficult – the arrows this one shot did not land inside-flesh as with other targets, but bounced off, especially the larger scales. Where this one managed to strike, was all the soft places, like under the leg and wing joints, under the chin, and near the throat. And then I had lost _my_ Delany, and saw her shooting from the tower-roof, at the wings. And this one had copied, also using her poisons, though I knew Delany had many more with her.

Poisons didn’t seem to work very well on the dragon. It was too large for the poison to be effective. And then it had crashed into the tower, and Delany was somewhere inside! This Khajiit had wanted to rush in, and find her Delany, but I knew: killing the dragon was more important. This one would have to trust that her Breton was safe, and would _be_ safe until I could see it was so, or not so, with my own eyes.

And this one had attacked, but fire had not worked. So I cut at its wings, its underside, all the soft places. Everywhere that _my_ Delany had struck it with her ice magic. And that idiot-Imperial-who-is-great-Dragonborn-Septim had screamed out in fury, embedding his sword in the dragon’s neck, and nearly getting himself killed. Then Delany had appeared, casting a Destruction spell, and saved him.

But he still had not moved, and this one wasn’t close enough to have killed the dragon herself. So I had hissed and snarled at him what he should do. Truly, it is… _disconcerting_ … for this one to see one go so perfectly calm in the face of near-death.

Then Michael had killed the dragon, and this one’s fur and whiskers nearly burnt off when the dragon started to burn. And the Septim was trapped under the dragon’s head. But there was time enough to get over the dragon's back, and run to a pale-falling-collapsing Delany.

“Delany!” I knelt next to her, helping her sit up. “What happened? Are you alright?”  
She smiled stiffly. “Yeah, sort of. My poisons smashed when I fell down the stairs getting away from the dragon, and I think I managed to get some of them in my system. I-I’ve managed to h-heal myself a lit-tle, but –”  
“Drink, this one has a healing potion still,” this Solän'cae pulled out the potion, uncorking it and letting Delany drink. “Ai, you shouldn’t carry so many…. And you will need to find a spell to stop them from breaking so….” I helped Delany stand, and she wavered a little, looking over my shoulder to the dragon skeleton over my shoulder.

This one confesses, it _is_ extremely interesting. “S-so, it’s dead?” she asked.  
Michael turned to us, nodding. “I do believe it is.”  
Then Delany let go of me and started shuffling forwards with a grin. “I w-ant s-some of the boness!”

I stared at her. “You cannot yet speak, but you want some of _that_?!” this one shakes her head.  
Delany turns to face me, grinning. Perhaps she is in shock…? Like with Helgen? “Do y-ou have any _ideea_ what kind of pric-ce this will fetch?! I _havve_ to take s-some of it with me!”  
“Are you alright?” Michael asked, taking hold of Delany’s arms and slowly easing her to the ground, making her sit when she swayed.  
“She’s recovering from a poison incident in the tower – she will be fine in a bit. But you need to _sit_ ,” I hissed, pushing down on her head when she tried to stand. “You will get worse again, if you keep moving. Wait here, this one will go… _help_ … the others and then bring some bones for you, yes?”  
“O-k-kay,” Delany grinned. Yes, this one believes there is some shock as well.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Everyone had been tended to as best we could out here, and the dead were gathered and placed together, in one long line. This Solän'cae counts eleven dead, most from the Watchtower contingent. Ten are seriously injured, to the point where they cannot be moved without a cart or wagon, and another seven have some deep gashes, cuts, bruises and burnt armor. Most who have had their skin burned are dead. Irileth sent a group of four to bring back some horses and wagons for the dead and wounded, so they will return soon. Delany seems better, but she still shakes from the lingering poison effects.

If she is lucky, she will build a resistance to them after this. If she is not…. Then next time this should happen, it is possible that this Khajiit will receive news of her Breton as one who is dead. While it is not something this one likes to think, it is a possibility. But already, she has a greater resistance than expected. Perhaps she anticipated the possibility of being poisoned with her own poisons, and took small doses to build this resistance? Thoughts for another time. I wander back to Delany. “Which part of the dragon do you want?”  
She looks at me, then at the dragon. “Uhm, well, I can’t carry the entire skull back, which is a pity, but I’d love the last tail vertebrate, a few teeth, a thigh bone and a rib bone or two. That should be good enough, I think.”  
“This one shall go fetch them.”

“ _FUS!_ ”

Delany gasps, I crouch down, hissing and wide-eyed, turning to the source of this sudden gust of something, and the loud shouting. The dragon skeleton broke apart immediately, the separate bones falling to the ground.

“You really _are_ Dragonborn!” one of the guards exclaim, awe and wonder in his voice.  
And there is the Dragonborn-Septim, looking surprised.

“Dragonborn?! What was that just now?” Irileth shouted, staring at Michael and his new cluster of adoring Whiterun Guards.  
“I… think I just… _Shouted_ ,” Michael said, blinking.  
“You did, Imperial! You Shouted! Like the Greybeards on their mountain!”  
“My father always told me stories about the Dragonborns of old!”  
“You stole that dragon’s soul, didn’t you, when you killed it? That’s how all the Dragonborns get stronger!”  
“That’s how the Dragonborn makes sure a dragon is dead!”

“If you do that again while this one is so close,” this Solän'cae snarls, hand on her sword. “I _swear_ to _Sithis_ I will kill you!”  
“You won’t lay a hand on the Dragonborn!”  
“That’s right!”  
“Filthy cat! You disrespect our Nordic history and culture! We’ll teach you – !”

“Enough!” Irileth shouted, coming between me and her guards. “No-one is going to attack anyone else! Calm down! It’s just some old myth! And I agree with this Khajiit – whatever you just did, Michael, just keep it to yourself for the moment. It’s unsettling.”  
“Oh, come on, Irileth! How can you say that? You just _saw_ and _heard_ him Shout!” a guard called.  
“It’s because you’re an outsider! You don’t know about our legends! And here is one before us!” another frowned at the Dunmer.  
“Damn right I don’t know about your legends! And I don’t really care, either – I’ve seen lots of things before in my life, and traveled to many places. I’ve never seen anything like this before, I will admit to that. And _if_ it is true that you, Michael, are needed to kill the dragon, then so be it. But the fact remains that they _can_ be killed, and we need to get back to Whiterun as soon as we can, and inform Jarl Balgruuf about the outcome of this battle. Dragonborn or not, you managed to strike the killing blow,” Irileth moved to face both me and Michael, crossing her arms and scowling. “It looks like the wagons are almost here – let’s prepare to get everyone on and head back.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

We were almost at the stables outside of Whiterun, Delany sitting with her legs dangling over the back of the wagon, her dragon bones tied together behind her, when _it_ happened.

“ _DO-VAH-KIIN!!_ ”

The horses shrieked, trying to bolt and rear. Everyone tried to grasp something for balance, eyes wide. Delany grabbed the seat next to her, and bones, throwing her legs out of the way of the wheels. Michael turned to face the Throat of the World, taking several steps towards it as if in a trance. The ground shuddered, and the world felt as if it tilted and shook.

And then it was over, the men grasping the wagon sides and the reins and the horses’ heads. Gently soothing them even as they snorted and pranced and balked.

But this Dragonborn-Septim…. He had turned to the Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in all of Tamriel, and started walking that way. One of the guards caught his arm, and stopped, staring at the man for a moment without recognizing him.

“I guess he really is Dragonborn…” Delany murmured, nodding to herself. This Solän'cae turned to frown and ask her why she seemed to know more when she added, “I read some ancient tome in the College that alluded to dragons speaking an ancient language, and that if one knew the name of a dragon you could call upon it if you could Thu’um – and it also said that someone called the Dovahkiin, presumably the Dragonborn, would respond to the call in a similar manner. I, along with most other scholars at the College, took it for an old mythological tale.”  
“This one sees the truth in your words…. Perhaps _he_ could be one to trust a little more,” this Khajiit murmurs. “I still cannot believe he met the Great Khajiit! Even though it was so brief…. And so long ago, yet near. This one would meet with Al’Kardho again. I swear it!”  
Delany glances at this Khajiit, and offers a smile. “You know, I think you will.”  
I grin. “I believe fate will allow it!”

 

* * * * * * *

 

There was great pomp and ceremony at Dragonsreach when we all returned, mostly for the death of the dragon, but also, great victory in battle. Even the Nords who had fallen were not… _mourned_ for, so to speak. Apparently their bravery in fighting such a great foe would grant them passage to Sovngarde, a Nordic afterlife for all the greatest warriors, where they would feast with all the other great warriors from before. So it was a riot – lots of mead and drunk Nords, and though Delany and I had helped retrieve the Dragonstone – for which we were greatly rewarded with gold and enchanted weapons – it was Michael who was made Thane of Whiterun, and granted the ability to buy property within the city walls.

It does not bother this Solän'cae that she is not given this title, no. It means that I am still unknown, still able to move freely within the shadows without being wary of a light that could be cast upon me. It is true, yes, that my Family matron, Astrid, will be furious when I return to the Sanctuary, but for now…. Tonight I rest, and tomorrow I depart to save the Gildergreen.

During the evening, my Delany came to tell me that she was returning to her Guild, but would ride with Michael to the village of Ivarstead, where he would climb to High Hrothgar, and she would walk down to Riften. She seemed to have pulled away from all the attention the new Thane was getting, also preferring the shadows as a thief would. She also taught me the fire-rune-spell she promised when we retrieved the Dragonstone from Bleak Falls Barrow.  
But she was most proud of her dragon bones, and wouldn’t stop talking about them once she started. My Breton had an idea that, perhaps they could be crafted into weapons and armor. She would have to talk to Enthir, she said. Or Niruin – both hailed from Valenwood, where it was common to make weapons of all kinds from the bones of their prey. Perhaps _they_ would know how to curve, cut the bone to something else. This Solän'cae finds that rather interesting – but has no desire to take to smithing. But then… perhaps this one should know enough to make sure she can fix her weapons and armor just enough to get to a smith.

Or Arnbjorn. But this one doesn’t like that Nord much.

Ah, this Solän'cae will find out about it all when she returns from saving the Gildergreen.

 

* * * * * * *

 

 _This Skyforge steel axe is a burden. Where do I put it on my horse, mm?_ I thought, staring at my bay stallion. Eventually this Khajiit tied it to the saddle, and mounted. It was early, sun-not-yet-waking early, and Delany had sleepy-goodbye-hugged me when I woke her. It had made this one purr to see her hairless-one so happy in her sleep.

I am now going to find this ‘Nettlebane’ dagger the priestess wants, and return from this place called Orphan Rock with it. Then I shall hear what I must do next. This one does not like being treated like a common messenger, told only just enough to do one thing at a time. But, that is how it must be done.

I can only hope Khenarthi smiles upon my decision to save her Gildergreen tree.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Solän'cae woke me up before she left, dressed in her Dark Brotherhood leathers, a cloak in hand to cover it once she left the room. She was finally questing to save the Gildergreen. It was some time before dawn that she set out, and I was still asleep when I hugged her and wished her well. At least, I think I did – I fell asleep again after she closed the door to our shared room at the inn. I woke up again a short while later, stretching happily and going through my morning routine, finishing with donning my Thieves Guild armor, and my weapons. My pack was heavy from all the extra goodies I had plundered, and today I would sell some in Whiterun before we left. The shops would long be open by the time Michael came down – the Nords had pulled him into several drinking games throughout the night, often toasting to him as their ‘Dragonborn Thane’. I had found it rather funny to see the Imperial so torn between decorum and declining to drink. But he had given in, and later in the evening he had already been ousted by the Nords’ capacity for alcohol.

He had remained in the Great Hall with many of the other townsfolk. I doubted he’d be down anytime soon.

So I wandered through the city with a bagful of the items I planned on selling, just exploring the layout, really, should I be needed here on a job. By seven the market had opened, and an hour after that, the shops followed suit. I walked straight into Warmaiden’s with my weapons, bartering with Ulfberth War-Bear.

He was a tough one to please, but I still made off with six hundred septims for two rusted swords, two bows, and about thirty arrows the Ancient Nords had used when they attacked us in Bleak Falls Barrow. Now it was just heading over to Belethor’s to sell off some trinkets – mostly jewels and jewelry I had snagged from the bandits and the odd draugr. None of it was particularly valuable, but it wasn’t worthless either.

Belethor was worse than Ulfberth to barter with. My damned kinsman refused to give me more than one hundred septims for four silver rings, two plain silver necklaces, three jeweled silver necklaces, and a gold ring with an amethyst. I was furious. Belethor wouldn’t budge – the gold ring was worth the most, he smirked.

I'm sure he knew I intended to sell regardless of what he offered. _I need to learn to barter from Tonilia,_ I scowled, stalking out of the shop to fetch the rest of my things from the Bannered mare.  
I found Michael coming out of Arcadia’s when I walked out of the inn, my pack and Wabbajack in hand.

I smirked in greeting. “Had fun last night?”

The meek glare he shot me said everything. I laughed at the sky, happy to be on my way back home to Riften, the Thieves Guild, and my friends there. Maybe I’d even be able to see Marcurio, if he had returned from his work exploring barrows with the researcher. _I miss him_ , I thought, my smile turning a little softer. _I hope he’ll be at the Bee and Barb. I’d love to see him again. I really miss him._


	23. The Throat of the World

******Chapter 23: The Throat of the World**

Throughout our trip to Ivarstead, Michael was cordial, but distant. It was almost as if he was preparing for the worst once we parted in Ivarstead. Or perhaps he was simply concerned about what the Greybeards would want with him. Either way, I let it be. I was eager to return to my Guild with news of my prize: dragon bones. I wanted to study them, but I needed access to the College, and I wasn’t yet skilled enough in the different Magic Schools to really do anything meaningful, anyway. _I wonder if Enthir managed to do anything about my ban from the College yet._

I hoped he had. I would love to return and continue my studies. For now, I could let the Septim history go: I had managed to solve that riddle. As for the mystery of the Champion of Cyrodiil…. Now that was a topic I wanted to know more about. What had happened to the famed and esteemed Al'Kardho, and what had made him fall? Michael said he has seen the Khajiit before his grandfather had died, but that was all Michael could say about the Champion, really. I probably had a letter or two at the Black Horse Courier office in Riften.

I’d find out once I got there – after all, Ivarstead was only a day’s ride away now.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae was delighted with the ease she handled herself against the three witches at Orphan Rock. But, when I searched their bodies for the dagger, it was not to be found. Was it perhaps that it was true what Danica Pure-Spring said, that there could be a Hagraven here? If so, then it is important I go to this lone outcrop, cross the log that must have been placed by magic and see what is there. I was halfway when fire hissed by, burning the whiskers and whisker-fur.

This Solän'cae hissed, dropping lower, swapping sword for bow. _Below is a spike-pit._

I drew the bow and fired, but missed, because I was not looking. I sent my flaming familiar forwards as I cast the spell, crouching, looking to see where it went so I can pounce. My tail is excellent for balance on this log, ears alert for sounds and my whiskers and nose ready for scent. Aside from burnt fur, that is.

_There!_

I leapt up, racing along the log as I followed the explosion of my familiar, already nocking an arrow to shoot.

Pause for a moment, fire!

Sling the bow, grin with delight at the shriek of a Hagraven and the thud of an arrow.

Draw the sword!

“Mmreeeaaaaaahhhhhhhwww!” I hiss-shriek, jumping up and swiping down at the Hagraven! Cutting down, down through her arm, through the bone!

Land, roll, turn away from wild-spray-magic fire!

Rise, pull back the sword arm, drive it through the Hagraven’s chest!

Wrench it out, backhand swing it across the head, cut it off!

And watch with glee as it flies, bouncing along the ground and falling over the edge into the spike-pit. Let the body fall.

“Ah, this must be the dagger-known-as-Nettlebane,” I purr, bending over to the headless-Hagraven and taking the dagger from her belt, and tied it to mine. “Now, this Solän'cae can look around and see what else there is to take that is interesting…. And then go back to Whiterun. And have this fur and whiskers treated. The stink this one hates, and the skin below heat-hurts.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

There hadn't been much to take from Orphan Rock, but there had been lots of taproot from the Spriggans. So I took that, and left. And now I was being healed in the Temple of Khenarthi, by Danica Pure-Spring. She is an excellent healer, this one will admit. And so I hear of the next part of my quest, to go to Eldergleam Sanctuary, where the legendary, ancient mother-tree of the Gildergreen resided.

This one was told to cut the tree for the sap to restore the Gildergreen, but to harm _another_ of Khenarthi’s beloved and protected…. There must be another way. This Solän'cae shall find this other way.

And she will find it without this other, irritating Breton-pilgrim who bothered Danica and this one about the Gildergreen. Perhaps I should just do the right thing and kill him, that his incessant whining may stop.

Yes, this one _should_ do the right thing….

 

* * * * * * *

 

But this one had refrained from doing the right thing, praying instead to Khenarthi and asking for her blessing along this trip, that I may either restore the tree through a gift of sap from the Eldergleam, or that I might renew the Gildergreen by the gifting of a sapling. And so this Solän'cae had set out for the Rift, riding her bay stallion across the country, that I may arrive there sooner.

Unfortunately it was with this other whining-pilgrim, but after leaving the temple I explained carefully what it meant to travel with this Solän'cae. He had grumbled more for a while, but kept to himself mostly after that. this one was grateful – this one would not easily want to kill another of Khenarthi’s followers, but this one…. Gah, even Sithis would spit him out of the Void.

Danica knew what I was looking for, having been to the Sanctuary once before, so I knew we had arrived when I saw the out-of-place pine trees in a desolate geyser-plain. It was surprisingly warm on this side of Skyrim, and the towering boulders above me showed the entrance to the Sanctuary – it was an underground temple, according to Danica. I would have to bring Delany here as well, one day. I was about to go inside, the pilgrim following silently, and leave my horse outside when I heard the distant roar of a dragon. “I paid too much for you to die by dragon and for me to walk. You will come inside with me,” I grabbed the reins I had thrown over his head to ground tie him, tugging gently until the horse trotted after me into the cave. I ignored whatever the pilgrim had to say, not waiting for him to follow me or fall behind.

It was a slippery descent, and several times I had to force my horse’s head down to stop him from hitting it on the rock above. Once we were inside, the cave became taller, but the passage was still steep, winding.

Narrow.

So far, my horse did not seem too happy about coming in, but seemed content to follow me for now and be somewhat quiet, only blowing a little. I heard the pilgrim mutter and curse behind me, and the soft hum of magic entered the air then faded. There were no shadows, so perhaps he had cast a night-vision spell.

Eventually I let go of the reins, preferring to reach for my bow instead, drawing it and nocking an arrow. I did not feel safe – was this truly Eldergleam Sanctuary? But when my horse kept hesitating, kept stumbling over rocks I could see, I realized I was no longer seeing through day-eyes, but night-eyes, and my horse could not see where he was walking. Eventually I stopped.  
“Why are we stopping?” the pilgrim demanded.  
I scowled at him, digging out my only torch from a saddlebag. “My horse cannot see.”

And so I lit it, drawing a long, wary snort from my stallion. “Oh, be quiet – you have seen fire before. Now, you can see, and so can the rest of the world. Come,” I picked up the reins again. This Solän'cae will simply have to use her sword when the time comes.

This Solän'cae was still wondering if she had come to the right place, and what she would find here, when the cave suddenly opened up before me.

“Ah, beloved Khenarthi of the Khajiiti….”

The path turned a little sandy before me, turning to this one’s right, towering trees standing tall and healthy on a bank before me. The sunlight that trickled in from gaps above turned the light in the cave to a soft blue, the dust and vapor from the nearby geysers drifting down slowly, visible only in the yellow of the sun, fading in the blue of the cave. I started down the path, almost dropping my torch. My horse also seemed touched by the air, so calm, so caring, so close to the great Khenarthi.

Even the pilgrim was silent.

The path was now lined regularly with ancient logs – or roots, for this place is Khenarthi’s for her worshipers – that one might not slip and fall along the path, while the beauties took one’s attention elsewhere. I froze the flame around my torche, stopping just long enough to force it back into this Solän'cae’s saddlebag. There were many flowers and plants here – ferns, mushrooms, flowers, trees of all kinds. In the distance I could hear the rush of a waterfall, and closer, the bubbling of a smaller fall.

This humble, awed Khajiit followed the path on, her horse trailing behind, to a rope bridge.

A sharp hiss and spout of hot steam from a geyser to the left made this one, the pilgrim, and her horse spook, hissing and blowing. A male voice laughed. “Aye, a rather unexpected thing in the Eldergleam Sanctuary, Friends,” he greeted. This Solän'cae followed the voice over the bridge, coming closer to the man. He sat on the edge of the bank, his feet dangling above the water flowing and bubbling below.  
“This is indeed the great Sanctuary of Khenarthi?” this one asked.  
“It is indeed. Welcome! And enjoy the wonders and beauty on offer here. If you need anything, speak to Asta. I am Sond.”  
“Solän'cae, and this one thanks you.”  
“Maurice Jondrelle,” the pilgrim said.  
“Come across and give your horse to me. He can rest here as well,” the man stood, meeting me as he held out a hand for the reins to my horse. “Follow the path for the best first look, Solän'cae, Maurice. You will not regret it!”

I gave my horse to him, following the path further still, eventually coming to a warm cloud of sunlight drifting in from above. I purred happily at the warmth. Maurice went on to explore on his own.

“Welcome to Eldergleam Sanctuary, Friends,” a woman, this time. Possibly Asta.  
“Thank you. Might this Solän'cae presume you are the one called Asta?”  
She smiled, and nodded. “I am. Stay here a while and rest amongst Kynareth’s beauty amidst the volcanic tundra.” She turned to look around her with an incredulous-peaceful smile. “Who could have believed such a beautiful place could exist here?”  
“Who indeed….” I trailed, joining her in her admiration of Khenarthi’s beauty and domain. A giant knot of roots caught my eye, but before I could I examine closer, the grunt of a horse and a man laughing made both Khajiit and – this one presumes – Nord turn. My horse was unsaddled, free, and rolling in the soft, sweet grass, coming up with a grunt and a happy kick. This one smiled. Asta laughed. “It seems even your horse is happy to be here.”  
“Yes. I could not leave him behind. There is a dragon flying outside.”  
“Oh,” Asta looked surprised. “Is that what the roar was?”  
“Yes. This one has come to the conclusion that there are several dragons now in Skyrim. But that is not why I am here. Tell me, is that the Eldgergleam I see there?” I pointed up at the knot of roots, following them up to a towering tree and a thick trunk, high, high, high above this one.  
“Yes, that is the Eldergleam,” Asta smiled, about to add more.  
“How to I arrive at the tree?”  
Asta looked sadly at the tree, then me. “No-one has ever come close to the Eldergleam in years. The roots are too large, tangled and knotted. There are rumors of a weapon that the Eldergleam herself would lift her roots for, out of fear, but I do not believe it exists. How could something so harmful ever exist?”  
“This one possesses that very weapon, called Nettlebane. Look,” I untied it from my belt, showed it to her. “But I do not wish to use it on the Eldergleam. Tell me, have the others who have tried to reach the Eldergleam climbed along the roots, or have they opened for some?”  
“Some have climbed, others from before I was born say the first few roots opened after prayer. If you use that weapon in here, Khajiit, it shall doom us all.”

And so the woman called Asta left me, showing me the path I needed to take to the roots. And so I set off, strapping the dagger to my belt again, climbing the stairs and stopping at the first tangle of roots. It was easy enough to climb through. As was the second.

The third lot I had to climb over the top, and this Solän'cae had nearly fallen over the edge, off the cliff and into the rocks and water below. But she climbed over, making her way up to the fourth cluster. This Solän'cae has no doubt that there will be many more that will be more difficult. “Khenarthi, this one asks for your favor to complete this quest, to restore or renew the Gildergreen of Whiterun, that others might know the great beauty of the Eldergleam if they cannot make this pilgrimage to this sacred sanctuary of yours. That is all this one asks, Khenarthi.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was late, late in the afternoon, when the sun wasn’t shining so strongly inside this cavern, when the only warmth still here, was what remained of the sun of that of the geyser, spraying noisily every now and then, that I finally arrived at the last knot of roots. I could almost see the tree above me, but I was tired. The roots gave only enough for this one to climb under, or through, but never so that this one could comfortably walk underneath them. And now I was at the final tangle, and I was lucky enough for it to be low, thinner than the others. I climbed over slowly, taking in the soft glow of torchbugs, the soft carpet of green grass, the dark purple, pink and green leaves of the Eldergleam, and the strong, thick white trunk.

There was a chest nearby, and two spriggans looked up when I arrived. They were not dangerous, yet

I sank to my knees in front of the Eldergleam, unbuckling the Nettlebane-dagger from my belt, offering it to the tree, and to Khenarthi. Immediately the air felt hostile, the spriggans rustling and whistling behind me. “Great Khenarthi, Mother of Nature and the Wind, Psychopomp to the Khajiit, I offer you this dagger. I offer it that it may remain here, in a place where it will be hidden from the cruel who wish to harm your creation and this Eldergleam. I offer it that I may be the last to have held it, and that its existence may once again return to that of rumor with no substance. It is a foul thing, this blade, Khenarthi, and though this Solän'cae knows that it is evil and sacrilege to bring such a thing to a sacred sanctuary as this and ask that it remain here, this Solän'cae also knows that here, where I now kneel, it shall never again be used by other who wish to abuse this Eldergleam.”

All was silent, and then a breeze stirred, and a breeze lifted my face to the tree, helped this Solän'cae stand.

I was awed: it was _Her_! “Khenarthi,” this one breathes. It was a warm, kind breeze, and this one turned.

A spriggan unlike others this one has seen before floated closer to this Solän'cae. Her bark was lighter, almost white like the tree, and instead of the branched crown on the heads of many spriggans, she had hair of leaves and flowers, light pink and white and pale blue and purple. She also glowed a darker green than the others, her glow almost making a skirt behind her. A breeze swirled forwards from her, warm and cold, fresh and stifling, explaining things to this Solän'cae that I will never be able to retell.

But what was said was this: the dagger shall remain here, yes, and take with a new sapling to grow in the place of the Gildergreen. Nature will always go through birth, death, and rebirth.

And two other spriggans came to this humble-awed-amazed-speechless Khajiit, carrying between them a sapling taller than both.

A sapling of the Eldergleam.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Ah, there was a great rejoicing and surprise and amazement when the two spriggans followed this one down the following morning, carrying the sapling I was to gift to Danica. I saddled my horse and left with the two spriggans in tow.

Imagine the surprise on the faces of the people of Whiterun when, not only has an _adventurer_ returned with the Gildergreen sapling, but a _Khajiit_ to boot, but she brings with her two calm spriggans carrying the sapling of the tree they revered. I was stopped at the stables, right before I was to dismount, and asked to wait a while that the people might be told in advance, and see this miracle I had returned with. And if I could please ride my horse into the city, that all might see who had saved the Gildergreen, and received Kyne’s blessing.

And so this Solän'cae had waited, and though I was uncomfortable with this audience that was to come, I was also grateful to Khenarthi for allowing me to save the beauty that was the Gildergreen. I was also glad that the people of Whiterun felt the same.

I asked the spriggans to walk in front of me, and I rode my stallion behind them. The city gates were open when we arrived, and the streets were lined with the rich and the poor together. Stalls and shops were closed. Everyone murmured when they saw the spriggans and the sapling, which these nature-defenders of Khenarthi raised high. And so the people cheered, calling out to Khenarthi as Kyne and Kynareth, and many cheered and thanked me as I passed.

This Solän'cae does believe there will be quite the party tonight, to celebrate this restoration of Khenarthi’s symbol.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Danica Pure-Spring wasn’t convinced at first, that bring a sapling was a good idea. But when I tried and failed to explain what I had seen, experienced – and that I had seen and spoken to an incarnation of the great and wonderful Khenarthi herself, she was convinced. A sapling would be taken as Kyne wanted. The Gildergreen was carefully uprooted by the spriggans, cut and shaped by their earth magics into altars, benches, amulets, and shrines as needed by the Temple of Kyne, and when the spriggans turned to me with a gift, I saw it was a necklace, shaped like Khenarthi’s symbol, but with the Nettlebane dagger also etched into the design. The wood was smooth and hard as metal, but warm. “This humbled Solän'cae thanks you,” I murmured.

The spriggans stayed only for the planting of the sapling, and the first watering of the young tree, and then they simply vanished. The townspeople thought they had left the city, but this Solän'cae was sure that they had entered the soil beneath the sapling to protect it. “Hail Khenarthi,” this one smiled to the breeze whispering through the courtyard as the celebrations began.


	24. There is Only One Life to Be Lived

  **Chapter 24: There is Only One Life to Be Lived**

This Solän'cae rode for the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary before dawn, riding hard for Falkreath. Astrid would not be pleased with the extended absence, but she would have to find a way to make peace with it. This one was thinking that the Dark Brotherhood needed the Night Mother more than ever before to return to the great glory and fear we had known.

Astrid was no matron of the Dark Brotherhood.

She was no leader.

All she was, was a Pretender.

Yes, a lying _pretender_.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Michael and I parted ways in Ivarstead, a tiny little village at the foot of the Throat of the World in the Rift. When I had asked about returning his mare to Solitude, he had smiled and said I should just turn her loose – she would find her own way home. So I had turned her loose, rubbing her forehead and scratching inside her ears before I let her go. Michael mounted his horse again, and made to turn the stallion towards the bridge leading up to High Hrothgar. “Oh, Delany?” he stopped, turning his horse around again.  
“Yeah?” I raised my brows.  
Michael smiled wryly to himself before looking at me. “Don’t get caught,” he grinned. I laughed, and watched as he rode his charger up the path proudly, stopping to read the inscription on a stone tablet I could just make out against the mountain face. I took a deep breath as I hoisted my heavy pack a little higher: one day I’d go up to High Hrothgar, too.

But first I had to sell some more of what I had looted and make my way down to Riften and the Thieves Guild.

It was good to walk again.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was a quiet walk down to Riften, and often I strayed from the road to gather flowers and alchemy ingredients. Sadly I didn’t have time to deviate all the way to the Alchemist’s Shack, a small hut with all sorts of alchemical tools, potions and ingredients, but I would make the trip some other day. I found myself wondering if dragon bones had any magical properties to them. _I’ll only know that once I’ve studied them a bit, and improved my alchemy._

I walked into Riften as dusk settled, heading straight for the Bee and Barb. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tired-looking Marcurio sitting at a table against the wall, his long brown hair freed from its usual ponytail, and his head resting in his left hand, staring at the tankard in front of him. I hurried over, pulling out the chair, dropping my pack and sitting down with an excited grin. “As I’ve said to the many others, I am currently _not_ for hire. I have just returned from an arduous trip and I will let you know at the soonest time when I will be available again.”  
“Ooh, you make me jealous, Marcurio,” I smirked, wiggling my eyebrows just as he looked up with a lazy glare.

“Delany!” he sat up, smiling.  
“Marcurio!” I returned, flashing a bright grin. “How about I have some of that – whatever it is – you’re just staring at?” I pointed at his drink.  
He pushed it closer to me. “Enjoy. Where have you been since New Years?”  
“Oh.” I remembered I had meant to be back in Riften at least a week ago. “Adventuring. Killing dragons. Getting another year older. Visiting daedric princes in the minds of dead old emperors. That sort of thing!” I chuckled, watching Marcurio’s face turn from of-course-you-went-adventuring to incredulous to a smug smirk.  
“Well, happy birthday, Delany! And that explains the Wabbajack,” he grinned, raising his tankard, taking a quick drink and passing it to me. “And what’s this about killing dragons?”  
“Mmph,” I held up a finger as I drank the mead. It wasn’t quite Black Briar, as we had down in the Ragged Flagon, but it was still good. I wiped my mouth when some of it spilled as I lowered the tankard. Keerava came over with a second tankard and some more mead, filling both with a toothy grin before disappearing again. The tavern wasn’t as full as it could’ve been but it was still busy. “Thanks! It’s a rather fun toy – it turns one thing into something totally different. I killed something by accident with it once, too – it was a wolf. It just dropped dead after I fired the Wabbajack at it,” I shook my head, remembering the wolf I had found while gathering fire somewhere between Valthiem Towers and Ivarstead. “You remember when I told you I was at Helgen when the black dragon appeared?”  
Marcurio frowned. “Why the sudden distinction of _black_ dragon? And yes, I do.”  
I clucked my tongue at the Imperial mage. “I’m getting there, just wait! Well, when I was in Solitude I ran into Solän' _cae_ again, and there _we_ ran into Michael, the Imperial who had saved us from the wreckage. Well, all three of us were headed to Whiterun, so we thought we’d travel together. So we do, and then end up bounty hunting together as well, the exact details of which I can’t really tell you – or at least, not here – and when we returned to Whiterun to collect, we were all called out to the Western Watchtower because –”  
“– Because it had been attacked by a dragon,” Marcurio cut in.  
“– It was attacked, yes,” I finished simultaneously, nodding. “We were the only three in Whiterun to have seen a dragon before, so we were called in to help. Not that we really knew _how_ ,” I laughed wryly. “Anyway, after a bitch of a fight and nearly being flung off the Watchtower roof, poisoning myself by accident and a lot of dead people later, we managed to kill the dragon. And it was a green one, so there are at least two dragons in Skyrim. Well, _were_. I brought some bones back after we killed it!” I grinned, reaching into my pack and bringing out the last tail vertebrate. “It’s surprisingly sharp for bone,” I handed it to Marcurio, studying his face as he examined it. _It’s been long time since I’ve seen you this excited._ I reached forwards to tuck a sudden cascade of hair behind his ear.

His hand reached up to catch mine as I pulled away, and my breath caught in my throat. He set down the piece of dragon bone, gently holding my hand between both of his. “There’s all manner of dangerous things out there. I’m just glad you're ok, Dey.” He let go and pulled back when Talen-Jei put a steaming plate of food down in front of Marcurio.

“Could I get you anything?” Talen-Jei asked me.  
“Uhhmmm…” I bit my lip, trying to get my mind in working order again. “I’ll, uh, I’ll have what he’s having.” My mouth twitched into a grin. “And maybe also a Velvet LaChance, please.”  
“Make that two of them,” Marcurio held up two fingers dismissively. “And then you also got the Wabbajack?” he added as soon as the Argonian had left, light and easy.  
It was my turn to smirk smugly. “Well, you’ll never believe how that happened….”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Later that night Marcurio and I stumbled up the stairs, laughing and drunk and crashing into walls until we reached our rooms. “G-niiiihhh…” I had trailed, falling into my room and collapsing onto the bed. Thank Magnus for mage robes…..

I hadn't felt like pulling on my nightclothes and I hadn't bothered to fully stow away my pack either, so it was half-kicked under the bed. When I woke up I was still face-down on top of the covers, my pack still holding up the one foot that dangled down further than the other.

And I felt _home_ again – here, in Riften, with all the other thieves and Marcurio. Today I was officially returning to my Guild, with all my loot, news of my successes (though they would have reached the Guild a long time ago) and grand tales of my adventures. As with all thieves, neither of us trusted another’s Grand Tale of Extravagant Adventure because we were all liars and knew it. We never called each other liars, but we always brought some proof of our exploits home, which either ended up someone’s memento, or fenced, or lost in some or another gambling stint.

And here I was: coming back with real dragon bones.

I cleaned up, changed from my mage robes into my Guild armor, and made my way to the back of the Temple of Mara, walking into the mausoleum and kicking the switch. The stone had barely moved aside when I hurried down, and I pulled the chain to close it behind myself, easing down the manhole to the guild quarters.

Rune was the first to see me. The shocked expression on his face when he stopped mid-sentence to stare at me was priceless. He frowned, squinted, leaned forwards, and finally gave in. “ _Delany_? Is that _really_ you?” he asked.  
I smirked, hoisting my pack up and adopting a lazy swagger. “Well, if it isn't Rune! And how have you been? I haven't seen you since last year!”  
Vipir’s head appeared around the corner. “Ah! Enthir’s lass! Good to have you back,” he laughed when I pretended to scowl and bumped my fist against his arm. “So, where have you been? It’s obvious that all your jobs are done, but you were gone so long we were beginning to wonder what happened.”  
“Oh, you know, this and that….” I tapped Wabbajack against the ground. “Got a daedric artifact, fought a dragon, delved deep into some ancient Nordic ruins…. But oh, it was such a journey, such a difficult time of travel, that I think I need something to wash away the dust in my throat,” I dramatized, snorting and chortling when Rune and Vipir laughed.  
“Welcome home, Shadow-Walker.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Apparently in my absence I had been given the nickname ‘Shadow-Walker’, in reference to my talent as a thief, and the fact that I had not yet been arrested. Delvin had been the one to come up with my new name, and held a certain kind of hope that I would be the one to turn this ‘bloody curse ‘round’. Almost everyone was in the Ragged Flagon shortly after I arrived, except for Vex, Mercer, Dirge, Brynjolf and Niruin. Apparently Vex had some big job straight from Maven Black-Briar, concerning a rival meadery. Or something like that: I wasn’t too concerned about the jobs Vex took, only the ones she gave.

And so I regaled my guildmates with some slightly exaggerated tales, carefully leaving out the bits about the Dragonborn and Michael Septim. Everyone wanted to hold the Wabbajack, so it was passed around. Most of the comments were the same: it’s a crazy-ugly stick. And then we would laugh some more, drink to the pun, and continue whatever story whoever was telling.

A new resident had moved into the Flagon, a Bosmer woman by the name Galathil. Apparently she was a face-sculptor, one who could change you to look like anyone else. Apparently she also did less ‘refined’ modifications such as tattoos and piercings, but at the moment she was still setting up her station and waiting for the Thieves Guild to finish building it. From what I understood, there was an agreement of an eighty-twenty spilt for the Guild.

I always wanted to have my ears pierced….

But as I was about to make my way to speak to the elf, Vex crashed through the door to the Ragged Flagon from the other side, almost falling down the stairs, cursing and sputtering as she eventually managed to slam the door closed behind her. “Fucking mercenaries!” she shrieked, more to herself than anyone in particular. “Where is Mercer?”  
“’E’s not ’ere, Love,” Delvin started.  
“I swear I will _cut off what you –_ ”  
“Alright! Alright! What’s the matter, Vex? Have some Black Briar, and sit down to catch your breath,” Vekel interrupted, uncapping a bottle of Black Briar mead and gesturing at a table. Vex heaved a sigh, then fell into the chair, defeated. We all waited until she had slowly sipped at her drink, before Vekel tried again. “Now, start from the beginning and tell us what happened.”

“Goldenglow Estate stopped paying us a while ago, remember? Well, when I tried to break in, I found a fucking _army_ of mercenaries. I tried every way I know into that damn meadery, but I nearly got caught and killed by them. Maven will _not_ be pleased to hear about this.”  
“Damn…” I breathed. This _was_ a problem. I hadn't really dealt with Maven before, but I knew she was a rather important client for the Guild.  
“And you,” Vex turned to me with narrowed eyes. “Where have you been? I hope all your jobs are done.”  
“They’re all done – completed successfully. There were a couple other things I needed to take care of before I came back to the Guild,” I finished stiffly. I refused to explain myself to _her._  
“Fine,” she scowled, finishing her mead with the next swig. “When’s Mercer coming back?”  
“We dunno. ‘E’s been gone this past week almost. ‘Aven’t seen the man since yesterday morning,” Delvin replied, looking a little put out.  
“I suppose we’ll have to do something about Goldenglow before it gets even more out of hand…” I trailed. But what do you do? Honey is essential in producing mead, and burning the beehives just won’t cut it…. _Unless you only burn about four or five. They_ do _have about twenty or so hives on the meadery._

“–alk to Mercer about it,” Vex sighed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mercer was less than thrilled to see me sitting in the Ragged Flagon when he came back later that day, Brynjolf following behind him. But the cold, calm fury he gave off when Vex explained what had happened, was almost worse. I practiced lockpicking and pickpocketing just to stay away from Mercer. Brynjolf came in later while I was tinkering with a more advanced lock. “It’s good to have you back around here, lass,” he greeted, flashing me that charming smile of his when I looked up. I sighed dejectedly: I had just broken another pick with this lock. “Well, I guess I'm done here for today.”  
“Aye, lass. Listen, Mercer wants to speak to you,” Brynjolf’s easy smile slipped away.  
I stayed still, half-sitting and half-rising to stand. “What’s wrong?”  
“I suspect he’s going to send you to Goldenglow Estate. I’m just not sure you’re ready for that kind of job. And not even Vex could get in.”  
I nodded, standing slowly. “Yeah, that’s true. But I suppose I won’t have much of a say in the matter. Thanks, though, Brynjolf.”

When I saw Mercer pacing behind his desk in the Cistern, I had to agree with Brynjolf: Mercer was of a mind to send me into Goldenglow. _Fine, then_ ¸ I thought, my face setting into a half-scowl. _I’ll prove to you that I can get in and out without being caught. Watch me, Mercer Frey. I_ will _come out on top!_

 

* * * * * * *

 

I was set to infiltrate Goldenglow as soon as Mercer had spoken to Maven about what she wanted done with Aringoth, and execute the plan _exactly_ as I was ordered to. And when he returned with the news that I was to burn down five of the twenty beehives, and clear out the safe in the basement, where the bill of sale should be. That was all that I was told about the job, so I spent the evening asking my guildmates about what they knew. Vex was naturally upset that I had been given the job, sure that, if she couldn’t get in, no-one else would ever get close. At least I managed to get out that there was a sewer entrance she had managed to get into to hide from the guards, and on exploring the first section, found it empty.

That might just be my way into the Estate, after I burned the beehives.


	25. The Way of the Voice

  **Chapter 25: The Way of the Voice**

I hated the idea of sabotaging Goldenglow. Sure, I’d steal, plant stolen evidence, charm someone out of their gold, break in…. But setting beehives alight wasn’t something I rather wanted to do. Aside from making the bees seriously pissed off, it was a waste of honey and alchemical ingredients. And I had _some_ respect for the livelihoods of others.

It made me wonder just how much power Maven had over the Thieves Guild.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Delany had turned my mare loose after we arrived in Ivarstead. We had spent the night in Vilemyr Inn, and I rode for High Hrothgar that morning. I stopped to read all the stone tablets along the way, speaking to some of the hunters as I rode higher. The winds blew more fiercely here, and often the path tilted down off the side of the mountain. I was grateful that I had decided to buy my stallion from a Skyrim breeder: the horses I had left behind in Cyrodiil were far too fragile for this land.

I finally reached a pass, where the wind eased. But my stallion had stopped, his ears pricked. “What’s there?” I breathed, shifting the reins and loosening my katana.

My stallion tensed and grunted, pinning his ears flat. “Talos guide me,” I breathed, drawing my katana.

It was a frost troll.

I pushed the reins up my charger’s neck, rising in the stirrups as the troll turned and roared. My stallion screamed back.

We charged.

I raised my katana high, turning my stallion out just before we reached the troll.

I swung down hard, slicing through the troll’s shoulder, and cutting off its arm.

I turned around, raising my blade again as the troll screamed. _Only a few seconds before it heals itself_.

My stallion took two heavy leaps in the snow, reared up in front the troll, striking its head with his hooves. The troll howled, swiping wildly with its other fist.

I turned my stallion away, swinging my katana to cut the troll’s head off.

I dismounted quickly, wiping down my blade and running my hands over the charger’s legs, checking if he had been hurt by the troll. I used Healing Hands on him for good measure, and we pushed on to High Hrothgar.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The air thinned quickly after the pass, with snow beginning to fall more readily. I was grateful when the High Hrothgar Monastery appeared in the distance, and I was especially glad to see the stables nestled into the side of the mountain, under the main monastery building. A young monk quickly took over the duty of attending to my horse, so I left for the main monastery.

The massive wooden doors swung open surprisingly easy, and I stepped inside to suppress a thankful shiver at the warmth from the fires I faced within. The main hall was empty at the moment, and the only sound was the crackling and popping of wood as it burnt. I stepped forwards to the open area in front of me.

“So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment at the turning of an age.”

I sought out the voice of an old man, leaning on a rail up the stairs to the left. I strode to the center of the room, a hand moving to rest on the hilt of my sword. “I am answering your summons, Master. You called me Dragonborn.”  
“Indeed, you have come. But first, let us see if you are truly Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice!”

Did they want me to Shout? At them, these old men? Would I not harm, or even kill, them?

“Do not fear, child. Your Shout cannot harm us,” the man said, gesturing at the room, seeing my doubt. I glanced around, and noticed that three other Greybeards had joined us. The first walked down the stairs, folding his hands into his robes. He stopped midway between me and the stairs, waiting.

I nodded, facing him. “ _FUS!_ ”

He took a step back, a slight frown on his face from the force. Then he smiled. “Dragonborn…!” he turned to face me, hobbling closer to take my face in his hands. I tried not to frown or pull away. “Welcome! Welcome to High Hrothgar!” he released me, and I took a step back, immediately dropping my gaze. “I am Master Arngeir, and I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me Dragonborn, why have you come here?”  
“I want to find to find out what it means to be Dragonborn.”  
“We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood who came before you. You are not the only Dragonborn to pass through these halls. There have been many of the Dragon Blood”  
“I am not the only Dragonborn, then?”  
“You are not the First. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift on mortalkind. Whether you are the _only_ Dragonborn of this age, that is not ours to know. You are, simply, the only one to be revealed thus far. That is all any can say. I can see in your eyes you know of us, the Greybeards. Then perhaps you also know, that we are followers of the Way of the Voice. On the slopes of Kynareth’s sacred mountain, we have raised High Hrothgar, where we commune with the Voice in the Sky, striving for balance between our inner, and outer, selves,” Arngeir lifted his face, spreading his arms. He was right: I _had_ known of the Greybeards for many years.

I shifted, my armor uncomfortably heavy and cold in the monastery. But Arngeir wasn’t finished yet. “We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar once more, and we will teach you how to use your gift in fulfilment of your Destiny.”

“My destiny?” I asked, glancing back at the Greybeard.

“You need not hide your gaze from us, Dragonborn. And yes, your Destiny. That is something _you_ must discover for yourself. We may show you the way, but we cannot show you the destination. Are you prepared for this journey?”

I looked at the four Greybeards in turn. I nodded. “Yes, I am ready.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

The rest of the day was spent testing my ability to Thu’um, and learning two new words, _Ro_ and _Wuld_. I was told more about the dragon language, the Shouts and Words of Power. The Greybeards, despite their unnerving stoicism, seemed impressed with how quickly I learnt the words and projected them into Shouts. The monastery was warm, and aside from a courtyard at the rear of the monastery, the winds around the Throat of the World were blistering and powerful.

Dinner with the Greybeards and their attending monks was simple, and uniquely bland. Arngeir chose this time to tell me about Ustengrav, and the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. As he described the ruins, the horn and the founder of the Way of the Voice, I felt pit settle in my stomach, trying to keep the scowl off my face.

This was exactly the sort of thing Delphine would already know about.

The ruins of Ustengrav lay to the northeast of Morthal, near the shores of a heavy marsh. The Horn was deep within the barrow, and the barrow itself would ‘test my mettle’ as a Dragonborn. Arngeir suggested that I leave in the morning, after an early breakfast, and retrieve the horn as soon as possible.

I lay awake that night, in the low, hard bed I’d been given in High Hrothgar. I had to return to the Legion soon, and time would become a valuable commodity once more. I doubted that I would see the Greybeards again any time soon, and I wasn’t about to abandon the Legion just to sit in a monastery and learn Words of Power all day, every day. But the way Arngeir had spoken about Ustengrav led me to believe there was more than just the Horn that I needed to discover, and the darkness that had clouded his face and foreboding that entered his soul suggested that, even if I _did_ leave the Legion to come to the monastery, I wouldn’t be sitting around meditating on the Words until fate knocked on my door.

No, I was fairly sure the Greybeards might also know something about the return of the dragons.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This Solän'cae sighed happily, returning to her Home and Sanctuary with the Dark Brotherhood. It had been too long, and yet too short, for Astrid was still here…. And Astrid-pretender was furious when this Solän'cae walked into the main room. So much screaming and furious hairless-paw-waving….

This Khajiit ignored her, walked past to Nazir and told of the completed contracts. There were better things to do with this Khajiit’s time than listen to a _Pretender_ rave. This one will come and go as she pleases, always putting this Family first, never sharing her secrets. _Their_ secrets.

Astrid came by much later. “Solän'cae, may I speak with you?” she asked quiet-fury-calm.  
This one looks up from her card game with Nazir, Festus, Babette and Veezara. “Will you keep your head, and not prove you are as mad as Cicero-Keeper?”

The Pretender looked furious. “I am your matron, the leader of this Sanctuary. You will not disrespect me.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Yes, this one will speak with you, _Matron_.”

Astrid nearly sneers, then turns and walks away from the dining area, this Solän'cae following. We walk to her chambers, where Astrid waves at a chair with a sigh. “Please, sit down. I want us to have a civil discussion.”  
“This one feels the same, Matron. I… _apologize_ … for my behavior earlier,” I force out slowly. This one must just keep the mask, the cowl. Wait for the right moment to strike down One-Who-Cares-Not.  
“Good,” Astrid drawls, sitting. I sit across from her. “Your extended absence without leave isn't something I want to become a habit – we’re already short, and with so few recruits coming in, we can’t afford to lose anyone. You can understand this, Solän'cae,” she purrs as only a hairless-one can.

This one merely blinks in return. “This one understands. It is very possible that this Solän'cae will continue to have such excursions, with her Thieves Guild contact. I shall send letters if this is the case, but I do not believe they will occur again soon, Matron. But, surely, this cannot be all you wished to speak to this one about.”  
Astrid clenched her jaw. This one watches calmly while Astrid pulls her before-words together. “That is correct. In fact, with this matter, you're the only one I can turn to, _because_ of your extended absence. It’s… somewhat more personal than what you’ve done before. It concerns the well-being of the Sanctuary.”

I lean back, looking at her sideways. “Oh? Tell me more, Matron.”  
“I’m concerned about Cicero. He’s taken to locking himself in his quarters with the Night Mother. I suspect he’s conspiring with someone – he spends hours in there, frantically whispering. I can swear I heard two voices in that room once. I need to know who he’s conspiring with, and what they plan to do. He’s got sharp eyes, so you’ll need to hide in the Night Mother’s coffin –”

This one sputtered and hissed. “Desecrate the _Night Mother_?!” I hissed, standing. “Have you completely lost the head-sense?! If not for the fact that she is our _Matron_ , then for the fact that there is a _corpse_ of a woman there who _started this Brotherhood!_ ” This one stood. “For the sake of this Sanctuary, this one shall look into the matter. But this one thinks that _conspiracy_ is too far, even for you. Have you thought, perhaps, that Cicero-Keeper is talking to _himself_?”

Astrid rose as well, a snarl on her face. Not as impressive as a Khajiit, but angry, even for a hairless-tailless-one. “This one does this only for the Sanctuary, only because this one feels that we must remain united. This Solän'cae will _first_ find another place to hide, then she will hide in the Night Mother’s coffin.” I turn and stride out of her quarters.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Goldenglow proved a challenge to get into: but burning down the beehives first distracted the mercenaries crawling all over the place for long enough to let me slip into the sewer system Vex had mentioned. It was empty right through to the ladder leading up into the house. It didn’t smell nearly as much as I expected it to, which was a relief. I climbed up slowly, the trapdoor open. I slowly lifted it, eyes and ears peeled for more mercenaries, or even residents.

Thus far, only the tell-tale sound of steel armor further away met my ears. Probably only one or two of them, too.

I opened the trap door further, glancing around and quickly slipping out, closing it quietly as I hurried down a corridor. Brynjolf had given me rough, but recent blueprints of the house, so I had a fair idea about the layout. I crept past rooms, listening for the mercenaries as I made my way up the stairs to the master bedroom. Twice I had to duck into rooms to avoid the mercenaries, and twice I was nearly convinced I would die at the hands of mercenaries. The owner of Goldenglow – Aringoth – was asleep on a sparse bed upstairs, his face drawn despite the obvious effects of a sleeping draft.

 _Is this what pissing off Maven Black-Briar looks like?_ I wonder, glancing around the room. There was a curious statue of a crowned bee on a table, so I wrapped it in a spare cloth and put it in my bag, carefully rummaging through the drawers and closets for a key. Eventually I gave up: it wouldn’t be long until someone decided to check up on the elf again.

I ducked into rooms again as steel boots chinked on the floor, making my way down to the basement and the safe. There weren’t any guards in the lower section of the house; it was a little unnerving, to be honest.

As if I was walking into a trap.

I shook off the feeling, sticking to the shadows and creeping along the maze of corridors below the main house. I was beginning to doubt the safe was below when I came across a guard, slumped in his chair with several empty bottles of Goldenglow Mead scattered around him.

He snored loudly when I stepped closer.

I pulled back into the shadows.

But he wasn’t going to wake up soon, so I crept closer, gently touching his eyelids to cast a mild paralysis spell on them. Just in case.

I entered the larger room, where most of the brewing took place, if I judged by the barrels and tanks and all other equipment I couldn’t name. I found a safe tucked away to one side.

Picking the lock wasn’t easy, but I managed to only twist a lockpick in the process of opening it, scanning the inside for other valuables as I grabbed the Bill of Sale, the objective of the job. _Nothing left here, time to go!_ I thought, pocketing a large ruby and a small coinpurse. I hurried past the sleeping guard, melting back into the shadows.

It was too quiet on the ground floor.

I crouched in the shadows, waiting for moment, a sound, anything. The trap door to the sewers was just within sight.

I breathed slowly and quietly, peering out from my hiding spot. The coast was clear, for now.

Voices sounded down the hall. Now or never.

I bolted for the trapdoor, swinging it open as boots thundered.

“Thief! KILL HER!”

“Oh, _shit_ ohshit!” I swore, pulling the trapdoor closed behind me, falling feet first into the sewer. I gasped at the sharp pain in my ankles, casting a healing spell even as I bolted.


End file.
